Brothers
by turnstiles
Summary: Darry Curtis has a lot of responsibilities. He has a job, his house, his car, and most of all, his brothers. Ponyboy, Sodapop, Two-Bit, Johnny, Steve, and little, six-year old Dallas. Can he make it through "Growing Up Winston?" NOT A SLASH FIC
1. The First Night

**AN: Hi all! Due to several people being confused about the POV switch, i went back and fixed everything. I can't believe that slipped my mind when i was editing everything. Hope this is easier to understand!  
><strong>Love,  
>Alex<p>

* * *

><p>You're awakened by harsh coughing coming from the living room. You hop out of your bed, rubbing your bleary eyes as you walk down the long hallway. You can barely make out a small figure on the couch. As you flip on the hall light, you catch a glimpse of towheaded locks as the figure doubles over in another fit of those hacking coughs.<p>

"Dally?" you whisper quietly, hurriedly crossing the room to sit next to the small kid. He has his head buried in his jacket, coughs wracking his thin frame. Hesitantly you place a hand on his knee, moving closer to him. Ever since Dally got back from New York, no one could touch him, except for Soda. Dallas had gotten scared in New York, scared real bad. Dallas pulls his head out of his jacket, and you gasp at the kids face. He has a huge purple shiner over his right eye, and his cheek is busted open all down the side. Your throat swells up with pity for the kid you love like a brother.

"Hey Darry..." Dally says softly, curling his knees up to his chest. Cautiously, you reach out a hand and tilt his face towards you so you can get a better look at his busted cheek. Shockingly, he doesn't pull away; he just stares at you with those huge, heartbreakingly innocent baby blues.

"What happened to ya Dal?" you ask him, letting go of his face.

"My dad. Beat me up 'cuz he said my coughing was keeping him awake." Dally says softly, his lower lip quivering slightly.

"Come on kid, let's go get you cleaned up," you murmur, standing up and waiting for Dallas to stand up. The minute he does, he doubles over, coughs wracking through his slim torso. You anxiously walk into the bathroom, Dallas following you. He sits down on the toilet as you rummage through the cabinet looking for a washcloth and some bandages. As you walk over to the toilet and kneel next to him, he whimpers.

"It's okay Dal, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt ya, shhh..." you soothe the six-year old. You wet the washcloth and press it very gently to Dally's swollen cheek. He flinches, wrapping his arms tightly around his thin body. You take a good look at Dallas, trying to see him as a stranger might see him. He looks so innocent, helpless, and scared that it almost breaks your heart. How could there be people out there that would hurt your baby? You take in everything, from the wisps and tufts of flyaway blonde hair to the big, trusting blue eyes to the busted face. His face is so innocent and young-looking that he could pass for four instead of six. You want to take Dally in your arms like you used to, hug him and comfort him and tell him he's safe and that every things alright.

He's trembling slightly, one arm clamped tightly over his stomach. You think that his dad did some worse damage, and that Dally is hiding it because he wants to be the tough-as-nails little kid you grew up with.

"Dally, take off your jacket and shirt. Lemme see." Dallas's already huge blue eyes grow even wider, his pale face going white. He almost falls backward off the toilet as he frantically backs away from you, pressing his back up against the wall.

"No D-darry! Please don't make me do that!" he whispers, obviously terrified. One pale hand slips underneath his old jacket, covering his stomach. He pulls his hand back out from under his jacket, and it's smeared with blood. Dallas lets out a shaky sigh and slides down the wall, his eyes closed.

"Dallas? Dally?" you frantically ask, starting to get up. You think he's passed out. His eyes slowly open. You want to yell at him to come over to you, but that won't work with Dallas. You soften your tone as much as possible.

"Dal, please come over here. I need to see your cut. Please!" He slowly inches his way back over to you, shrugging off his worn leather jacket to reveal a tattered white t-shirt soaked him blood. You remind yourself to give the kid some new clothes. He sits back down on the toilet, starting to pull his t-shirt over his head. You can see his hands visibly shaking.

"Dal, it's me, Darry. I'm not gonna hurt you. It's okay." he pulls the shirt off, and you are in shock. He's so frickin' skinny! Every rib sticks out of his pale chest; you can see every bone on his chest clearly through his white skin. His stomach and lower chest are smeared with blood from the six-inch gash on his stomach.

"Oh Dally!" you sigh, wetting the washcloth again. "Darry, it hurts!" you can barely hear his pain-filled whisper. 'That's my Dal.' You think. 'My tough little man.'

"I know kid, I'm gonna try to clean it. If it hurts I'm sorry." you start to mop blood off of his stomach. You move down to his cut and start gently wiping blood away. Your hand is directly over the cut when Dallas starts with another fit of coughing. It startled you, his body bending in half so quickly. Your hand gets shoved inside his cut. Dallas makes a little choking noise and clutches his stomach. "

Holy shit, Dally, are you okay? Oh my god, Dallas!" He watches with eyes the size of his head as you pull your hand out of his stomach. He leans over and throws up all over the bathroom floor. You sigh, and then holler "Soda! Get your ass in here!"

You hear voices coming down the hallway, and your very sleepy brother and friend come in.

"Dar, whatta ya want? S'like, 3 in the morning!" Soda complains, scratching his head. Two-bit laughs at Soda's complaining tone, but sober up when he sees Dallas.

"Dally, you okay buddy?" Soda hops over the puke on the floor to wrap Dallas in his arms. Dally takes one look at you, and bursts into tears.

"S-s-s-s-sod-d-a! I didn't mean to Soda! I'm sorry!" he wails, head buried in Soda's flannel shirt. Soda strokes his hair, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly to him. "Dally, of course you didn't mean too. Its fine! Honey, I'm not mad atcha!" you tell Dally, grabbing a towel and wiping up the puke on the floor. Two-bit steps around you and kneels next to the toilet, staring at Dally with immense concern in his eyes. You find the suture and thread in the medicine cabinet, along with a handful of bandages. You cross the room to sit down next to Two-bit. Dallas is still sobbing, his chest heaving up and down every time he takes a breath.

"He won't let me touch him," Two-bit says agonizingly, giving you a very sad and somber expression in his usually lively gray eyes.

"I tried to rub his back and he freaked out." Two-Bit's eyes look a lot more watery than they should be. The whole gang loves Dally, and it was really hard for them to see the change in Dally when he got back from New York.

Bless your brother's heart; he's trying his best to calm Dally down. He's got both arms wrapped around Dally's violently shaking body, his cheek pressed on Dally's head as the kid sobs into his shirt.

"Shhh sweetie, shhh. It's okay Dally, shhh." Soda croons, stroking Dally's hair.

"Dallas? Little man, can you look at me?" you ask him softly, pulling out the suture and threading it. Dallas pulls his face put of Soda's shirt, his eyes red. You smile at him.

"Dal, I need to sew up your cut. It might hurt, but I need to do it. Okay, little buddy?" Dally nods slightly, fresh tears dribbling down his flushed cheeks. Painfully, he turns over on his side, exposing the cut. He hides his face in Soda's shirt again as you start to stitch up his cut, which is still bleeding heavily all over Soda's jeans. Little by little, you close up the huge gap with a line of small, neat stitches. Dallas doesn't say a word throughout the whole thing; he just keeps up a steady stream of shivering. You finish and wrap a long bandage around Dal's skinny stomach. When you're done, Dal tries to sit up, but falls back down, his bony chest heaving as those god-damn coughs heave through his body. You carefully pick him up, leaning his head on your shoulder as you start to walk back to the living room.

When you first picked him up he struggled, making small keening noises in the back of his throat and calling for Soda. When he realizes it's you, he calms down, wrapping a skinny arm tightly around your neck. He turns his face facedown onto your shoulder, coughing into your shirt. You head into the living room and sit down on the couch, keeping Dallas with you. Dally untangles himself from your arms and clambers over you, curling up next to your side. He nestles his head on to your chest, curling his knees up to his chest and sleepily placing his thumb in his mouth. You smile slightly, wrapping your arm snugly around him. Soda flops down in the armchair across from you, and Two-bit comes into the room with the thick woolen blanket from your bed. He sits down next to you on the couch and wraps the warm blanket around Dally, who's still shivering.

"Darry, what happened to him?" he asks, tenderly brushing Dally's untamable blonde locks out of his face.

"Well, I think that he's sick. Have you heard those coughs? I found him in here, coughing his head off. His dad beat him up because he was coughing too much. That's what that stab wound was from. I was cleaning it, and he had a coughing fit. My hand kinda got shoved into the cut." Two-bit sucks in a sharp gasp, his grey eyes flashing up to meet your blue ones.

"Yeah, it was bad. Then he puked, and I called for you guys." you finish, pulling Dally up so that he's more comfortable.

"I've never seen him cry like that. Actually, I don't think I've ever seen him cry..." Soda wonders aloud, crossing his legs on the coffee table.

"Yeah, I've never seen him cry like that either. Usually he's my tough-as-nails-screw-the-world little man." you reply affectionately.

"Soda, feet." you snap, glaring at your brother. Soda laughs at your expression and takes his feet off he coffee table.

"Sorry superman! Just thinking." Soda gives you one of his signature grins, and you can't help returning the smile.

**(Soda's POV)**

I yawn and stretch out my cramped limbs, all tight from having spent the night in the armchair.

"Soda!" Ponyboy crows, right in my face, his hair already greased.

"I made breakfast, now you and Darry have to clean up!" I playfully shove him away with a grunt, standing up and stretching out my arms.

"Hey man," my best buddy Steve says, sitting on the counter playing with a pop bottle. "Hey Steve." I yawn, walking over to him and stealing his cup of coffee. Steve slaps my hand and jerks his head in the couches direction.

"What's up with the cuddlefest over there?" he says mockingly, a sneer on his face. I look over to the couch, where Darry and Dallas are sleeping. Darry is stretched out on the couch on his side, his arms wrapped protectively around Dally. Dally is curled into a little ball, his back pressed up to Darry's stomach. I think it's kinda sweet actually, but strange because Dallas usually never let's anyone but me hug him. The only times he goes to sleep with Darry is when he's had nightmares or if his dad beat him up. He usually is inconsolable after a beating, and Darry and I spend almost the entire night trying to comfort him. Like last night. It's my turn to slap Steve.

"Shut your trap. Dally had a really rough night last night. His old man beat the shit out of him yesterday. He has a knife stab this freakin' long man!" I stretch my fingers out about three or four inches on my side. I see Steve's eyes widen slightly, but before I could explain the rest of the story, Dallas starts up with that awful coughing, wheezing and heaving as he fights to breathe.

"Dar thinks he's sick." I tell Steve, who is staring at me weirdly.

"So, Darry was cleaning that cut I told you about before, and Dally started coughing. Darry's hand kinda got shoved into the cut. Dally puked, and then Darry got me and Two-bit." I finish explaining, but Steve isn't looking at me any more. he's staring at Dally with a sick expression on his face.

"Jesus Soda, the kid looks like hell!" he whispers, horrified. The blanket fell off of Dally while he was sleeping, and the result isn't pretty. Half of his face is immensely swollen, with a deep cut down his cheek and a shiner over his right eye. I didn't notice what Dally's chest looked like last night, but I sure do notice like a skeleton. You could count every single rib through his pale skin, his hip bones stuck out above his jeans, his cheeks looked sunken into his head. To top it all off, he had a long, bloody bandage wrapped around his stomach, covering up the nasty wound he'd gotten from his old man. Blood had seeped through the bandage, staining the blanket and parts of our couch red.

"Oh shit..." I mutter, running my hands through my hair as I walk over to the couch and kneel next to Dallas. "Dally...Dallas! Time to wake up!" I croon, gently shaking his shoulder. Long blonde eyelashes flutter, opening up to reveal those beautiful blue eyes that Dallas has, though now they look dull and feverish.

"Hey sweetie! Good morning!" I whisper softly to him, brushing his hair off his forehead. Dally draws his body tight up against Darry, shivering. I help him sit up.

"You cold?" I ask, staring with concern at him. He nods slightly, a little sleep-drunk still. I wrap some of the blanket around his thin shoulders.

"Dal, we gotta clean your cut now." I tell him, kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "No..." I can barely hear him whisper as his eyes close again and he snuggles back up to Darry. I sigh, not wanting to wake him up again. Instead, I shake Darry awake.

"Dar! Darry, we got a problem!" I say loudly, shaking his broad shoulder. He awakes with a loud snort, shaking his head. Automatically, his arms tighten around Dallas, making sure Dally is okay.

"What Soda? What's wrong?" he says sleepily, blinking.

"Uh, check out the couch and the blanket, Superman." Darry sits up, carefully laying Dally down, and looks around he couch.

"Where the hell did all this blood come from?" he asks incredulously, staring around wildly.

"Dallas." is my short answer. Darry pulls the blanket off of Dallas and goes pale. "Damn..." he runs his hands through his hair.

"He JUST went back to sleep," I warn Darry.

"Soda, he's so sick. Just by lying next to him, I can feel how hot he is. He kept me up all night coughing..." Darry frets, stroking Dally's hair with a maternal type of concern. Darry gets up off the couch, stretching Dallas out on the couch and unwrapping the blood soaked bandage on Dal's stomach.

"Is he okay?" Steve calls from across the room, walking over. Ponyboy enters the room, Johnny in tow.

"Hey Pepsi!" he laughs, coming over beside me. He gasps when he sees Dally, turning to me with a sick expression.

"Soda, what happened to him?" Dallas' cut really doesn't look good. The skin around his cut is red and inflamed, stretched tight around the wound. It hasn't stopped bleeding, not even now. Darry has finished taking out all of the old stitches, and he's carefully sewing the cut back up, with a line of small, neat stitches. Dally starts to stir, his eyes opening slowly.

"Soda.." he whispers, reaching out to clutch onto my Jean leg.

"What, honey?" I say gently, kneeling down next to him.

"Can you stay with me? Please?" he whimpers, his blue eyes filling up with tears.

"Shhh, Dal, of course I'll stay with you! Don't cry, don't cry Dal!" I shush him, sitting down on the couch and pulling his feverish head into my lap. He visibly relaxes, his eyes closing again. Darry wraps a clean bandage around Dallas again.

"Pepsi, I need you to get the thermometer. I want to check his temperature." Darry asks me tiredly, patting my leg to get me off the couch. I get up, but Dally freaks out. He literally turns himself over, throwing his legs over the side of the couch and shakily getting up. I can't believe he has enough strength to do that! He takes a few steps, then collapses face down onto the floor. Darry jumps up, kneeling beside Dallas and pulling him up. Dally's eyes are closed, his breathing fast and shallow.

"Jesus Christ, what did he want from you Soda?" Darry growls, easily picking Dally up and sitting back down on the couch. All of a sudden, Dally wakes up again.

"Darry! Darry, will you stay with me?" he begs Darry, with such helplessness and terror that it hurts my heart to see that. His twig thin fingers clamp around the collar of Darry's shirt, his blonde hair a completely wild mess, his big blue eyes pleading and disoriented.

Darry really loves Dally, he thinks of Dal as his youngest brother. Dal is Darry's baby, even though he'd never admit. It's hard for Darry to see Dally the way he is now.

"I will Dal, you gotta calm down. I'm not gonna leave you. I'll stay right here, I won't leave." Darry promises Dallas, gently unclamping Dally's hands from his collar and smoothing his thin fingers out.

"C'mon kid, you need to go to sleep. That's it, you just rest now. I got ya." Dar whispers as Dally slowly wiggles next to my brother and lays his head on Darry's stomach, using it as a pillow. I see feather-duster eyelashes blink, then slide closed. Darry wraps an arm around Dally, pressing him up against his body.

"Soda, can you get the comforter off my bed? And while you're getting that get the thermometer?" Darry asks me, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. I walk into his room, stripping the heavy blanket off his bed. I've never, ever seen Dally this sick. He almost doesn't know who we are. Going into the bathroom, I have to rummage through the cabinet to find the thermometer, and when I start to walk out of the bathroom my foot skids on something and I fall flat on my ass. As I get up, I notice what I fell in is a puddle of blood. The puddle trails out the door and into the living room. It must be from Dally from last night.

"Ugh," I grunt, heaving the heavy blanket up on my shoulder and staggering into the living room.

"Here," I tell Darry, dumping the blanket on the couch and handing him the thermometer. Two-Bit is sprawled in the armchair, and Steve is sitting on the floor next to him.

"Hey Pepsi! How's the kid?" Steve asks cheerily, grinning at me. As if to answer him, Dally starts to cough again, and it sounds like he's heaving up a lung. Steve's smile falters.

"I guess not good, huh?" Two-Bit murmurs, shifting in the chair. Darry swears from behind me, and I turn around to see Darry, holding Dally's head up with the thermometer in his mouth.

"How high Dar?" I ask worriedly, almost afraid to hear the answer. "

103.5." Darry sighs, tenderly laying Dally's head back onto his chest. "If it gets any higher I'm going to take him to the hospital." Steve stares at Darry funny.

"Why not take him now? He's sick enough, ain't he?" he asks, getting up to stand next to me.

"He is," Darry agrees, "but you know Dal. He's delirious and doesn't know what's going on. If we took him to the hospital like this, he'd freak out. He doesn't like people to touch him when he's not sick, but since he's sick and didn't recognize Soda before, he would flip out." Darry explains, waving me over.

"Soda, I need you to stay with him until I get home. I need to work today, but I think I'll be able to get off the rest of the week to take care of him." I nod, taking his spot as he gets up off the couch. Darry walks into his room to get changed, and I wrap the blanket tighter around Dally. Two-Bit and Steve start wrestling, punching playfully at each other. "Guys, chill ou-" I am in the middle of saying as Two-Bit falls against the couch, knocking the whole couch against the wall. The jostle was enough to wake Dallas up, who stares at me with bleary blue eyes.

"Darry?" he ask softly, blinking a couple of times.

"You're not Darry." he says flatly, realization kicking in. "Where's Darry? Darry?" his voice rises from a whisper to a shriek as he struggles to get away from me.

"Dal, Dal, it's me, Soda! It's okay!" I try to soothe him, but he just keeps trying to wiggle out of the blanket. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream of "DARRY!" and Darry comes running in, with a heavy flannel shirt and jeans on. "

What? Soda, what happened?" he sits down next to me, unwrapping the blanket from Dally as Dally frantically climbs over to Darry and buries his face in Darry's shirt. He's sobbing, loud, harsh sobs that rattle in his chest.

"Easy buddy, I got ya. Oh Dally, what's wrong?" he coos, stroking Dally's heaving back. Dal pulls his face up and throws his thin arms around Darry's neck, still bawling. "Shhh..." Dar whispers, his arms cradling Dally against his chest.

"Y-y-you-u p-p-p-prom-mise-d-d-d!" Dally wails, hiding his face in Darry's neck.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry! I swear, I won't leave you. I'd never leave you, its okay..." Darry whispers, gently detaching Dally's hands from around his neck and pulling the sobbing kid onto his lap. Dally is so small, he looks emaciated next to Darry's bulk. Darry rubs his back, murmuring in his ear. I can hear Dally's little whimpers.

"Darry, I didn't know where you were! Please, don't leave me again!" Dally says frantically, his small voice high and scared.

"Dal, I won't. Relax, I'm right here. I'm not gonna leave." Dar reassures Dal. Dally lets out a shuddery sigh, nestling up against Darry. He forces his bleary eyes to stay open. I can see the rings under his eyes from being so exhausted.

Two-Bit and Steve hurry out the door, Steve mouthing to me, "Gonna find Pony and Johnny."

I walk over to the kid and say, "Dal, you gotta go to sleep! Ya need to rest!" Dally just gives me a look, one of his icy death glares. The effect is kinda lost as he breaks off coughing in the middle of it. He looks up at Darry, holding his stomach.

"Darry, I don't feel good..." he trails off with a little moan.

"I know bud, you'll feel better soon. You just need some sleep." Darry comforts him, stroking his hair.

"No Darry, I really don't feel good.." he says, with more force. For the second time today, Dallas miraculously launches himself off of the couch, staggering into the kitchen with a hand clamped over his mouth. Darry and I exchange a surprised look, which quickly turns into one of horror as we hear retching in the kitchen. I skid into the kitchen, just in time for Dally to finish.

"Sooooda!" he cries. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't reach the bathroom! I'm ssssssoooorrry!" Darry kneels down next to Dally, snatching a dishtowel off of the counter and wiping Dal's face with it.

"Dally, it's fine! Don't worry, shhhhhh..." he wraps an arm around Dally's thin shoulders and leading him back into the living room. He gets him settled on the couch again, bundled up in three blankets.

"Darry? Darry?" Dally asks the air, staring straight at Darry, but I get the feeling that he's not entirely looking at him.

"What baby? I'm right here," Darry says gently, softly shaking Dally's shoulders to get him to focus on him.

"Darry, go to work today. Soda can stay with me.." Dally says bravely, but I can see his lip quivering and see his big blue eyes start to water.

"You sure? I can stay with ya Dal, it's no problem." Darry tells Dal, worried about his reaction.

"Go!"Dallas snaps, a tear dripping down his cheek. "Okay little man..." Darry trails off, grabbing his toolbox, kissing Dal's forehead, and walking out the door.

I hear his truck start up, Dally wobbly gets up, shaking off the blankets, and weaving drunkenly out the door. I follow him, unsure of what he's doing. He gets down the steps okay, running shakily up to Darry and latching onto his shirt.

"I didn't mean it! Don't go Darry, don't go! Please! Stay with me! PLEASE!" he cries, wrapping both of his skinny arms tightly around Darry's big arm.

"Don't go Darry!" he howls, trying feebly to tug Darry back towards the house. Darry hugs Dally with his free arm, drawing him protectively against his chest. He sits down in the driveway, his arms encircling Dally's thin form.

He rocks Dal back and forth, murmuring "It's ok, shhh... I'll stay, don't you worry. I won't leave ya Dal, of course I'll stay!" I scamper down the steps, kneeling next to Darry, who's got Dally latched onto his shirt, tears running down his small face.

"What the FUCK?" a new voice enters the air and I turn to see Tim Shepard standing in the driveway with a confused expression on his hard face.

"S'that Winston? What's wrong with the little shit now? That kids tougher than Curly, and Curly's thirteen." Tim says matter-of-factly, sitting down next to Darry and lighting up a smoke. Sometimes I forget that Tim's the same age as me: fifteen- he acts so much older. "Hey Blondie, what's up, ya lil snot?" Tim says somewhat kindly to Dally. In Tim's world, what he said to Dally would be considered affectionate. Tim cares a lot for the kid, and he's pretty attached to him.

"Tim..." Dally coughs, raising his tear streaked face to glance at Tim. He hides his face again against Darry's shirt, whimpering to himself.

"Dal," Darry croons, putting a finger under Dally's quivering chin and pulling it up so Dally's looking at Darry. "It's okay! I'm going to stay with you, we're going to go inside, and you can sleep, and relax," I can see Dal's eyes start to droop close: the poor kid is exhausted and has hardly gotten any sleep the whole morning. Darry stands up, easily carrying Dally up the steps and into the house. Tim and I follow him.

"Again, may I ask, what the FUCK?" Tim demands me, flopping down into the armchair. Darry sits down on the couch, stretching Dallas out with his feverish head in Darry's lap. I cover him with Darry's comforter, then sit on the kitchen chair in the corner of the room.

"Ahem?" Tim growls impatiently, glaring at me.

"Tim, go into Sodas room and bring the garbage can out here please." Darry says tiredly, feeling Dally's forehead. Grumbling to himself, Tim gets up, slouching into my room. I hear a couple of crashes, then Tim comes back, handing the old garbage can to Darry. "Explain." he hisses dangerously, violent dark-blue eyes narrowing into slits. You don't screw around with Tim Shepard, you just don't. He may be one of the toughest JD's around, but if one of his friends are in trouble, he'll drop everything to help them. I think he genuinely likes Dallas, and he does care about him, even though he pretends otherwise.

"Okay," Darry sighs, stroking Dally's hair. "Last night, I found him sitting in the living room, beat up, coughing his head off. He's sick, and his father beat the shit out of him last night." Darry sums up, running his fingers through Dal's cornsilk hair, which is matted in some places with blood. Tim growls, lighting up another cigarette and taking a drag.

"I don't know what that mother-fucker of a father did to him last night, but Curly and Ang could hear him screaming from all the way down the block." he snarls, flicking his lighter on and from the couch, turning over and holding his stomach.

"Oh shit, it's starting again..." Darry trails off, grabbing the bucket and keeping it close to Dally's mouth. Dally leans over, his frail body convulsing as he heaves into the bucket. Tim turns a little pale, seeing and hearing Dal vomit his guts up. He just flops over when he's done, hanging over the couch like a limp piece of laundry. Darry sets the bucket down, tenderly wrapping an arm around Dal's chest and pulling him back into a laying position.

"Tim..." Dally groans, turning his flushed face to face Tim.

"What Blondie?" Tim says, in such a gentle voice I almost can't believe it's Tim. "Water!" Dal whispers, his big, bleary eyes pleading with Tim, even though I know he doesn't need to plead, he's already got Tim wrapped around his little fingers.

"What am I, the fucking maid?" Tim grumbles as he gets up to get a glass of water. "Darry, my stomach hurts."Dallas says bluntly, wiggling weakly in the cocoon of blankets Darry has him trapped in.

"Like you're gonna puke bud? Or does your cut hurt?" Darry asks the kid anxiously, unwrapping all the blankets from Dally's trembling frame.

"Cut..." Dally whispers, his thin hands scratching at the bandage on his stomach.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off!" he shrieks, leaving ugly gouges in his pale skin as he tries to rip away the bandage with his nails.

"Okay Dally, shhh, I'll get the bandage off, look, it's off! You're fine!" Darry removed the bandage, revealing the cut, which is swollen, inflamed, and red as hell.

"Tim!" Darry hollers. "Get the Aspirin out of the middle cabinet over the sink!" I can hear occasional cussing coming out of the kitchen as Tim slams cabinet doors.

"Here's his fuckin' water, here's the fuckin' Aspirin, now can I stop playing fuckin' nurse and sit down because I'm fucking tired?" Tim snarls, sitting down in the armchair and staring at Dally. Darry pours two Aspirin into his hand and pries open Dally's tightly clamped mouth to pop the pills in. He brings the glass of water up to Dallas' lips, coaxing him to swallow.

"C'mon honey, ya gotta swallow! It's the only way you'll get better!" Dallas takes a couple of small sips, then pushes the water away with a soft cry. "Tim!" he moans, shaking violently underneath all the blankets.

"Tim?" he tries again, his voice a slightly higher pitch. "What?" is Tim's angry reply. "Tim?" Dal's voice is shuddery, like he's trying not to bawl or something.

"Yeah?" Tim says a little softer, feeling guilty that he snapped at the kid like that. Can... Can you stay Tim? Don't go, please stay with me..." he murmurs, picking absentmindedly at his stitches.

"Uh, sure Dallas. I'll stay.." Tim replies hesitantly, like he's condemning himself to the electric chair by talking.

"Sit with me," Dal pleads, his voice all high an' helpless-like. I can tell that it's killing Darry to watch a delirious Dally beg our asshole friend for comfort. Darry's baby ain't me or Ponyboy, it's Dallas. Darry loves that kid, he really does.

"For Christ's sake Tim Shepard, sit with the damn kid! That's what he's asking ya to do!" Darry snaps at Tim. Tim looks surprised as hell, but he slowly gets up, slinking his lanky frame over to the couch. Tim reminds me of a cat, a feral alley cat who will attack anything and everyone. Curly reminds me of a stupid, loud dog. He ain't that smart, and he's always getting in trouble for something. Curly's got a good heart, though. Tim does a lot of shit, but he's smart enough not to get caught. Tim sits awkwardly down on the couch, folding his long legs under him.

With tremendous effort, Dal pulls himself into a sitting position, swaying back and forth. He crawls over to Tim, laying his blonde head on Tim's shoulder with a sigh. He draws his skinny body tight up against Tim's side, cuddling with the hood. Tim doesn't know what to do. He just sits there, bewildered as Dally wiggles underneath his arm and rests his head on Tim's chest.

"Um, could you kindly Fu-" Tim starts to say, but is cut off as Darry slaps the back of his head.

"Ow! What the hell superman?" Tim snaps, turning his angry blue glare on Darry.

"For once in your life, can you not be an ass? Can't you see how exhausted he is? All he wants is for you to hug him. Don't be a jerk Tim." Darry growls, getting up and taking the bowl of puke outside. Tim mutters to himself, but wraps an arm around Dally. When Darry comes back in, Tim's eyes are closed, and his head is on top of Dally's, both of them sleeping peacefully. I smile, wishing that I had a camera to take this picture. Tough delinquent with innocent six-year old. Darry grabs his jacket from the armchair. "Sodapop Curtis, I'm going to get more Aspirin, more bandages, and some antibiotics for Dally's cut. I will be gone about an hour. Can you and Tim watch Dally for an hour?" Darry asks, already halfway out of the doorway. "Yeah..." I call. I close my eyes sleepily. Twenty minutes of sleep can't hurt...


	2. Missing

**Hello again! I just wanted to thank all the people who reviewed and answer some questions- **

**TreesAreSnazzy: Thanks for the positive feedback. I'm glad you like Dallas. :3 To answer your question- I just imagined that Mrs. Curtis and Dallas's mother were friends, so the boys knew Dallas when they were little because of that friendship. And thanks for the tip about the Pov's: I meant to lable them when I switched from Darry's to Soda's, but it kinda slipped my mind. In this chapter they're labled. Thanks! :)**

**Two-Bit's Girl14: I dont know why he's six, I just kinda felt like writing him as six. :)**

**deviousprincess: Yes, Tim called Darry Superman. I just thought I would throw that in there. **

**Iamafanoftwomanythingstoname: I love your username and thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like it. **

**And Danielle Curtis: Thank you and I'll try! :)**

**Thank you all and enjoy this chapter!**

Bob Sheldon and his mother were walking home from the grocery store on the greaser's side of town, past Bob's old friend Soda's house. As they passed the small, friendly looking house, a small boy came stumbling out, walking drunkenly down the stairs. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old, with hair so blonde it was almost white, and the biggest, bluest eyes Bob had ever seen. His cheeks were flushed, and he had a large wound on his stomach, stitched up but still bleeding. He's staggering around, bumping into fences and cars and light posts.

"Poor thing..." Bobs mother, Claire, murmurs. "Do you know who it is dear? I remember you used to hang around with the Curtis boys." Claire says thoughtfully, staring with concern at the small child who is trying to have a conversation with a mailbox.

"Actually ma, I think I do..." Bob trails off, thinking hard. He hasn't hung around Sodapop for almost two years, but he remembers all of Soda's gang. None of the gang liked him much, but Soda got along with him just fine. When they got into junior high school and high school, Bob realized that Soda's family was one of the poorest in town, and that Soda was a greaser. He hasn't hung out with Soda since, but he remembers all the gang members, or as Soda called them, his 'mothers long lost sons.' The boy can't be Ponyboy or Daryl, Soda's brothers, because they are way too old. It's definitely not that Cade kid, who Bob never really noticed. It's not Two-Bit or Steve- they are in Bob's class at school and Bob hates their guts. Bob remembers that all the boys would always have to watch a little four year old, which they all loved but Bob secretly hated. Whenever he went over Soda's house, Soda would always be followed by the kid. He'd play stupid little games and not pay any attention to Bob. The few times he went to the movies with the Curtis' and their gang, Two-Bit would always bring the kid along, telling little jokes and tickling him.

It's not that the kid was annoying or a brat: he was the sweetest little thing ever. Bob was just always annoyed because Soda's world revolved around the kid. What was his name? Danny, David, Dylan...

"DALLAS!" Bob shouts, remembering. "That's Soda's little friend Dallas!" he exclaims to his mother, who is starting to walk over to the kid.

"Hey honey, are you lost?" she says gently, kneeling down to the kid's eye level. Big, scared, feverish blue eyes stare back at her, rapidly filling up with tears.

"Do you know where Darry is? I can't find Darry! Darry pro-" he breaks off, hacking and coughing onto his arm. He sounds so sick that Bob's lungs hurt. "

I gotta find Darry! Tim, Darry, Soda..." Dallas is panting, his chest heaving up and down as he fights to breathe.

"Okay sweetie, calm down, I'll find Darry for you." Claire reassures the small child, laying a hand on his arm. Dallas jerks away, his eyes going from confused to terrified. "Don't touch me! Darry, Darry..." he cries, stumbling away down the sidewalk. Bob stares after him, confused on what just happened.

"I think he's looking for Darry, Sodapop Curtis' older brother." Bob explains to his mother.

"I think that kid is really sick," Claire says, concerned. "I'm going to see if anyone is home at the Curtis' house." She gets up, smoothes her skirt out, and walks up to the Curtis' door, knocking on it. Bob hears a loud shout of "FUCK!" inside, and a disheveled Soda answers the door.

"Mrs. Sheldon?" he asks, confused. Bob sees Tim Shepard, one of the most well-known hoods in his neighborhood, behind Soda.

"Sodapop, are you looking for Dallas?" Claire says hesitantly, glancing in the way Dallas went.

"Yes! Lord, have you seen the kid? He's delirious, and has a 103.5 fever! Darry thinks he has pneumonia!" Soda frets, thrusting fingers through his hair.

"Oh! Sodapop, he went that way, looking for Darry!" Claire whispers.

"Fuck." Tim growls behind Soda, shoving his way though the doorway. Soda's face is white. Tim jogs over to a real shitty car parked in front of the Curtis' driveway. Bob watches in interest as Tim ducks under the steering wheel, cursing loudly the entire way. Bob hears the sound of metal grating against metal, and the car starts. Tim gets in the drivers seat and revs the engine.

"Get in the car Sodapop." he hisses, fists clenching the steering wheel. Soda runs over and throws himself in and Tim races away, burning rubber away from the curb. Claire stares openmouthed after the two boys.

"Did he just...Did he just hot-wire the car?" Bob nods. "

Yeah ma. You have to watch out for Tim Shepard."

"I hope they find that poor boy." his mother says, concerned.

**(Darry's Pov)**

"What?" you roar at a tearful Sodapop and a guilty looking Tim.

"One hour! All I asked was one hour! Do you even know where he is now?" you yell, stomping over to your truck and getting in. Soda climbs into the front seat and Tim hops into the bed.

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis, I asked you to watch him! Why didn't you listen to me?" you snap, hitting the steering wheel.

Soda stares at you, miserably, and whispers, "I fell asleep Dar. Tim fell asleep, and when we woke up he was gone! We ran into Mrs. Sheldon, and she said that she had seen Dally, wandering down the streets looking for you!"

It's your turn to guilt trip.

"I never should have left him, he's sick, he needs me..." you mutter to yourself, cursing yourself on the inside.

"If you were Dallas, where would you go?" Tim shouts from the truck bed.

Soda thinks for a minute, then responds, "My house..." he trails off, looking at you in horror. Dally's father is at his house. The father who sometimes beats Dally so bad, the child is unconscious for days. If Dally comes home, all sick and delirious, and his father is in a bad mood... You shudder, afraid to even imagine it, and stomp on the gas, racing the truck through the quiet streets.

You slam to a stop in front of Dallas' dilapidated house, Tim already hoping out and walking up to the collapsing porch. You and Soda quickly follow him, and as you stand on the porch steps you can hear a mans voice, harsh with anger, and a child's small cries. "He's in there." Soda whimpers, looking like he's about to start bawling.

"Well, we're getting him the fuck out, aren't we?" Tim says violently, knocking on the door. Dally's father answers, and you can't see any resemblance between father and son. Dally's father has close cropped brown hair, he's big and muscular, and he has flinty grey eyes. Dal's eyes can be guarded and scared, but there is an undeniable sweetness in them. Hell, Dallas is a sweet kid! He doesn't deserve the hell he has to go through at home. Mr. Winston's eyes are cold, hard, and just plain cruel. Tim doesn't even say anything to the man; he just punches him right in the face, knocking the big man out.

"Split up and look for him." you tell Soda and Tim as you venture into the house. It's disgusting how bad the house is. There are broken bottles everywhere, garbage, moldy food, and torn clothing. There's a fist-shaped hole in the wall, and you swear that there's a Dally-shaped hole on the kitchen wall.

"Dallas?" you call, staring around the room.

"DARRY!" the bloodcurdling scream scares you, but then you realize who is screaming for you. Your Dallas, your baby, is screaming in terror for you, screaming because he is afraid to be in a house with his own FATHER.

"Dallas, where are you? Say something again!" you call.

"D-d-d-a-arrr-y-y!" Dally cries breaking off with a pitiful choked sob at the end that almost breaks your heart. His cries lead you down a short hallway to a room with the door padlocked.

"Dally, are you in here?" you shout, banging on the door. He answers with a high wail of "In here!" You run your hands through your hair, debating how you're going to get Dallas out of the room.

"Little buddy, I'm gonna break the door down, okay? Get away from the door." You say through the door.

"O-kka-" he breaks off coughing and you can literally hear him rasp for air behind a closed and locked door. You brace yourself, and then run through the door, splitting it in half. You almost fall with the impact of the door, and stumble around, trying to catch your balance as you stare violently around the room, trying to find Dally.

"Darrrry..." he moans, and you feel something tug on your pants leg. You wheel around, and honestly, you almost throw up. Dallas is sprawled on the floor, and you don't know how someone can get beat up that bad and live. One of his fragile arms is clearly broken: you can see the splintered white bone stabbing out of Dally's pale skin. His left eyes is swelled completely shut, jaw swollen and black and blue. There's blood everywhere, Dally's lying in a pool of it.

"Oh Dallas, oh god," you don't know how you're going to carry him. You're afraid that if you pick him up, you're going to hurt him. Oh-so-carefully, you slide your arms under him, wincing as he whimpers. "

Sweetie, I'm sorry! We need to get you to the hospital, then you'll feel better!" you coo, almost dying on the inside because of how beat up your almost little brother is. You cradle him against your broad chest, trying to keep him as secure as possible and not to bounce him around. He has his face buried in your shirt, and you can see that the whole back of his skull is bleeding and torn up.

"Soda, Tim!" you shout, walking into the kitchen.

"I found him, let's go! Tim, start the car." as you walk out onto the porch, you meet up with Soda. Dallas' head rolls limply down your arm as Sodapop turns around to croon to Dallas, but stops, a sick expression on his face. He runs over to the side of the porch and leans over, retching. You feel bad for your brother, but you need to get Dallas to the hospital as fast as possible.

"C'mon Soda, get in the car," you call behind you, walking carefully down the steps to where Tim was waiting with the car. You open the back door, hopping in and pulling Dallas in with you. Soda nearly wrenches the door off its hinges as he throws himself into the car next to Tim. Tim slams down on the gas, and you're speeding through the darkened and quiet streets. You have Dally's head cradled in your arms, fingers combing through his silky hair. There's so much blood- it's everywhere: matting in Dally's hair, covering the seat, soaking into Dally's and your jeans. Dallas doesn't even have the strength to cough now- he just let's his chest heave up and down, the air sounding like its ripping his throat as he breathes. He tries to move his head to look at you, but stops abruptly, pupils dilating in pain. His eyes roll back into his head, and he goes completely limp in your arms.

"Tim, drive faster!" you growl violently, your heart speeding as you think about how every heartbeat could be Dally's last, how the child could be dying in your arms. Tim slams to a stop in front of the hospital, already leaping out of the car in one bound. You quickly follow him, trying not to jostle Dallas any more than necessary. Tim holds the door open for you and you nearly sprint to the nurse's desk, panting out your story to the nurse sitting there. Without hesitation, you say that Dally is your brother; it will give you parental consent to give him medication and shit.

"Please Miss, my brother needs help! Quick!" you gasp out, watching as her eyes widen in horror as she stares at Dally. She pulls a switch on the wall and a team of doctors rolling a stretcher come running down one of the hallways.

"Put him here," one of the doctors says to you, gesturing that you lay Dallas down on the stretcher. You hesitate: if Dally wakes up and doesn't see you, only these strangers, he's gonna flip. But you give in and lay the kid down on the stretcher. He looks so helpless, so hurt, so small, lying there, surrounded by all that white. The doctors take off again, and you, Soda, and Tim have to run to keep up with them. They turn sharply into the OR, and wheel the stretcher into an operating room. You try to follow them, but a nurse bars your way.

"I'm sorry sir, but you can't come in here," she says, closing the door in your face.

"But..." you protest, shaking your head and walking over to Soda and Tim, who are sitting in a row of chairs across the hall from Dal's room. You start pacing in front of them.

"Any second now, he's going to wake up and freak out... He doesn't know where he is... Why can't I go in there with him?" You mutter under your breath, raking your hands through your hair in frustration. You were right. The minute you go to sit down, an earsplitting scream of "DARRY!" comes from Dally's room. The doctor pokes his head out.

"Are any of you named Darry?" he asks hopefully.

"He wants Darry and he wants a soda." Soda giggles nervously at the doctor calling his name a drink.

"I'm Darry," you say, "This is my brother, Sodapop, and a family friend, Tim." The doc eyes Soda weirdly, but turns his attention back to you.

"Can you come here please? We need you to calm your brother down so he can go under for surgery." You hop up right away, following the doctor into the operating room. Dally's worse than you expected. He's got his knees curled up to his chest, arm wrapped tightly around them, rocking back and forth mumbling to himself. His pretty blue eyes are wild and disoriented, like the eyes of a crazy man. You reach for him, sitting down next to him on the hospital bed.

"Oh Dally, kiddo, it's okay. I got you. Relax little buddy!" you murmur to him as you take his hand in your hands, rubbing it. "Little man, can you calm down for me? These nice people are going to make you feel better, but you have to relax." Dally sighs and relaxes his body, laying his head down on the pillow and allowing the nurse to finally stick the IV in his arm. You watch his eyes slowly droop from the drugs.

"Stay with me Daddy..." you hear him whisper faintly as his eyes close. You gently lay his hand on the bed, rushing to get out on the room because you're starting to cry. You sit down outside beside Tim. Soda is no where to be seen.

"Why'r ya cryin', superman?" Tim asks you, lighting up a smoke. You hang you head in your hands.

"He called me Daddy, Tim. Daddy," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut tight so that you won't feel the hot tears dripping down your cheeks.

"So?" Tim drawls, chewing on his nails.

"Tim, did you ever wonder that you were going to be a parent at nineteen? That your parents were going to die and leave you to take care of a whole gang of teenage boys? Ponyboy and Soda are old enough now where I don't have to worry about them as much, but this little guy," you gesture towards Dal's room, "needs me still. Who does he have to depend on, besides the gang and you and maybe Curly and Angel? I'm not supposed to be a father, Tim. I was supposed to go to college, supposed to live my life like a normal teenager. Except for the fact that I have a fifteen-year old, a thirteen year old, and a six year old to take care of." you confess to Tim, telling him all the worries that have been worrying you. At this moment, Soda walks back into the room, face pale and sweaty. "Sodapop?" you cry, jumping up to face your brother. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, and he stumbles to you with a sob catching in his throat. You wrap your little brother in your arms, rubbing his back.

"Pepsi, what's wrong?" you ask him gently, pulling him with you to sit down. He buries his face in your shoulder, so unlike his usual happy and carefree self.

"It's all my fault!" he wails into your shirt, shuddering. You're serious now- you don't want your kid brother blaming him for something that is completely out of his control. But you decide to humor him, and ask,

"You didn't get Dally sick, and you sure as hell didn't beat him half to death. So how is this your fault?" Soda pulls his face off of your shoulder, his big, laughing brown eyes now miserable and upset.

"I shoulda stopped him from going! I fell asleep and didn't watch him, and now he might die, and it's all my fault!" You take Soda by the shoulders roughly.

"Listen to me Sodapop. Nothing is your fault. Now calm down because I don't want you blaming yourself for something outside of your control. Take a deep breath, and relax." You order your brother, yanking his butt down to sit with you.

"Okay," Soda says quietly, sitting down and laying his head on your shoulder. All you can do now is wait.

(**Two-Bit's Pov)**

Darry looks awful. I mean, we all are tired and sick-looking, but Darry looks like he's aged twenty years in a brought in last night, and I bet Darry hasn't slept at all. He hasn't left the hospital since Dally was brought in, along with Soda. He has bags under his eyes, and his face looks pale and haggard. We haven't been allowed in Dal's room 'cuz he's still in surgery, and Darry is close to breaking. It got real close with Dal early this morning, too. Doc thought he was gonna die, butDallasis a tough lil booger. He just got by, and he should be coming out of surgery soon. "Darry, is he almost out?" Soda asks Darry for about the millionth time. I start tapping my leg against the chair nervously, anxious for any word on Dally.

"Two-Bit, stop, please." Darry says tiredly, rubbing his face with his hand.

"'Kay, superman," I say the same time the extremely tired doctor opens the door to Dally's room with a grin on his face.

"Boys, he's out of the red!" he whoops. Steve lets out a loud howl, jumping up and down with Sodapop.

"Can we see him, Doc?" Darry asks anxiously, a hand already on the doorknob.

"Sure, but he's gonna be out of it for a while. His fever is still pretty high, and he's a little delirious." Darry nods and all of my gang files into the small hospital room, followed by the doctor. I'm kinda nervous about what I'm gonna see. Dally is lying in the narrow hospital bed, whimpering and twitching slightly. I can't control the gag reflex I get when I see his face. He looks like he went through a meat grinder.

"Okay Darry, your brother has a compound break on his left arm in two places, and his left shoulder is dislocated. He has a broken rib, he lost two teeth, and his nose was broken. Any questions?" my mouth is hanging open. The poor kid! Ponyboy whimpers slightly, turning away so he doesn't have to seeDallas.

"Doc, isn't he sick?" Darry says sickly, staring with horror at Dally.

"Yeah. He has pneumonia, but we have it under control now." the doctor answers plainly, wiping his face with his coughing in his sleep, trying to pull the tube out of his nose. The sight of him there, hooked up to all those machines, barely breathing, breaks my heart.

I hear Ponyboy sniffling, and I turn around to see Soda wrap a comforting arm around his little brother. Me and the rest of the ggang dont know what to do- we just kinda stand there awkwardly, twisting our hands together, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

Finally Darry shakes his head and walks over to the hospital bed, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Dally.

"I'm gonna stay here," he says, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "Y'all go home and get some sleep.


	3. Hospital and Home

**AN: HELLO! Lol chapter 3 is UP! I wanted to thank Lucy E. Simpson Griffin (amazing name btw), MiniArtist, and Two-Bit's Girl14 for their reviews on Chaper 2. :) Reviews make me happy. PLEASE REVIEW**

**DISCLAIMER: I dont own the Outsiders. YET**

(Soda's Pov)

Oh god. It's all my fault. It's my fault that the closest thing I have to another baby brother almost died. It's all my fault! Dallas tosses around in the hospital bed, crying softly to himself. I'm supposed to be convincing him to eat and drink something, but the minute I bring it to his lips he jerks away, feverish eyes blinking furiously, moaning something about how his stomach hurts, and how he doesn't like water.

"Honey, you have to eat something! At least drink some juice!" I beg him, brushing his hair out of his face.

"No, I don't like water! I told you already, Curly! Curly, no!" my heart sinks. He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know who anyone is, except for Darry. He's been in the hospital for three days, three days of total delirium. Darry was sitting vigil with me today, but the doc called him out to talk to him. Me and Steve are sitting next to Dally's bed, trying to coax him to eat or drink. I hear voices, mainly Darry's, getting raised in the hallway, then Darry wheels into the room, slamming the door behind him. He thrusts his hands through his hair in frustration, grinding his teeth together.

"What's the matter Dar?" I ask, 'cuz he looks like he's about to punch the wall or somethin'. He looks up at me, eyes furious.

"The doc said that I have to Dallas home and take care of him there. Apparently, there's no room in the hospital for a greaser kid! How the hell am I supposed to take care of him? The kid is so sick he doesn't even know who we are!" Darry yells, kicking the chair. Steve and I exchange a shocked look.

"When do you need to take him home?" I ask hesitantly.

"Today. We have an hour to get him out of here. Where are we going to put him when we get home?" Darry says tiredly, walking over to the bed. "

Uh, me and Pone's room? We can all do a day and night shift to watch him. Like, me, you, and Pone can watch him at night, and Johnny, Steve, Two-Bit, and maybe Tim or Curly can watch him during the day." I tell Darry helpfully, glancing quickly back to Dally, who at the moment is talking to himself about how he doesn't like water, and how Tim was supposed to be busting him out tomorrow. Darry sighs and takes Dally's hand, rubbing his palm. "Hey bud, we're gonna go home today, okay? You're gonna be home, and you'll be more comfortable."

Dallas looks up at Darry, and a flicker of recognition dances through his eyes. "

Darry?" he asks faintly, trying to push himself up. Darry wraps an arm around Dally's thin shoulders, supporting him.

"Yeah little man?" Darry says gently, ecstatic that Dallas is recognizing him. Dallas gives Darry a small, gap-toothed grin, showing the teeth he is missing from the fight with his dad.

"Darry!" he cries, happily hugging Darry's arm with both of his arms. Darry looks over to me, happiness filling up his once-tired blue eyes.

"How ya feeling buddy?" he asks Dally, kissing the top of his head. Dallas glares up at him, one eye still swollen shut. "I don't wanna go home! I don't wanna see Daddy!" he frets, playing with Darry's fingers nervously. Darry's shoulders sag, seeing that Dal is still not in a good state of mind, he's sick, and we're all going to have to watch over him for a while.

"C'mon kiddo, we gotta go." Darry forces himself to be cheerful.

"Where?" Dally asks suspiciously, swaying back and forth. "Home bud, now you just relax, okay?" Darry says gently, picking Dallas up off the bed and slinging him onto his back, piggy-back style. Dally let's out a soft grunt of pain, clutching his side.

"You okay honey?" Darry asks him anxiously.

"Yeah... But where's Curly? Curly said he was here, that him and Tim took the train here, where is he Darry?" Dallas says quietly, combing his fingers through Darry's hair. "Okay, you'll see Curly later, he can sit with you." Darry reassures Dally, starting to walk out of his room. "But I don't want to see Curly, I want you to stay with me! Curly took Tim away, he took Sodapop and now Soda's not making cake…" He's just rambling now, making absolutely no sense whatsoever. I'm glad that it's the fever talking and not Dally himself, I just want Dal back to his normal happy self.

"Soda, I need you to drive, and Steve, um, just sit in the front with Soda, okay?" Darry tells me and Stevie as we walk out of the hospital. Steve nods and lifts Dally off of Darry's back, laying him out on the backseat.

"Sodapop? I want Soda, no Steve, where's Soda?" he moans as Darry slides in the truck next to him. "Soda's right here, do you want him to sit with you?" Darry asks Dallas gently, shrugging off his jacket to put on Dally. Dally looks ridiculous, all beat up and messy, with Darry's huge coat hanging off of him like a sail.

"Darry, my ribs hurt," Dallas groans, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

"Its okay sweetie, we'll get you lying down and you can take your meds." Darry tells the small kid, holding his hand.

"Everything hurts, why does everything hurt?" he moans, staring up at Darry pitifully. Next to me, Steve hits the car door, his teeth clenched together. I try to keep my eyes on the road and drive, but it's hard when practically my baby brother is in the back of the car, whimpering in pain. Finally I can't take it anymore. I pull over to the side of the road, jerking my head at Steve to take the wheel. I slide out of the front seat, opening the back door and hopping in next to Darry and Dallas. I stroke his matted blonde hair, murmuring softly to him.

"Shhh, Dally, you're okay, you're gonna be okay! Little buddy, calm down!" His eyes flutter, eyelashes grazing his cheekbones. Steve drives at a super-slow pace, glancing back every one in a while to check on Dally. He's shaking, eyes flashing back and forth from me to Darry. His fingers clamp onto my wrist, nails digging into my skin. I flinch, but as I see his eyes droop close, I just put up with it. Steve pulls into my driveway, stopping the truck as slow as he can. Darry carefully slides his arms under Dally, holding him bridal style. I follow them into my house, falling in step with Steve.

"Buddy, he's bad off, ain't he?" Steve asks me, stopping on the porch. I run my hands through my hair before answering.

"Yeah Steve, he's not feeling that great. But the doc said that the fever should break in a couple of days, and then he'll be fine." I try to smile at Steve, but a yawn breaks my grin. Steve's expression becomes concerned.

"Sodapop Curtis, when was the last time you slept?" he demands, grabbing my arm and dragging me through the doorway.

"Thursday morning." I tell him, giving him another sleepy grin. Steve shakes his head disapprovingly at me, pulling me into Darry's room and shoving me down on the bed. "Sleep." he orders before leaving the room. The minute my head touches the pillow I'm out like a light.

(Two-Bit's Pov)

I'm on baby-sitting duty. It's my turn to watch over Dally, to hope that the fever will break. Dally's been home for two days, and his fever's only gone down to 102 degrees. Everybody's getting exhausted and worried. Soda's pulled a night watch two nights in a row and he was going to do it last night as well, but Pony stopped him. I went into the kitchen to grab a beer and a quick smoke. When I left, Dally was restless, but not as bad as he was. Some of his bruises and cuts are starting to fade and heal, so he doesn't look as bad as he did. I'm sitting on the couch, downing my beer and finishing off my last weed when I hear the little pitter-patter of feet in the hallway. My heart jumps in my chest. Could Dal's fever have finally broken? My hopes are rewarded when a blonde head peeks around the corner.

"Two-Bit?" the six-year old whispers, rubbing his eyes. He has Soda's old flannel pajama pants on and he looks so adorable standing there, blonde hair all messed up, that I just want to hug him.

"C'mere kiddo!" I say, ecstatic that his fever broke. I open my arms and the little kid runs over to me, throwing arms around my neck. "Hey Peanut! How ya feelin'?" I ask him, tilting his chin up to see his face.

"I'm all achy. What happened Two-Bit?" he says softly, squirming around on the couch. Now that he's feeling better, the infamous Dallas energy is back. That kid couldn't sit still if the President himself told him to.

"Uhh..." I'm not sure how to tell him that his dad beat the crap out of him.

"You got sick. Aaaannd... You, um... Fell out of bed." he shivers, hugging my arm. I just notice that he has no shirt on.

"Kid, you're prolly freezin'! Let's get you a sweatshirt or somethin', 'Kay?" He nods, teeth chattering together. I start to get up, but Dallas refuses to detach himself from my arm. I grin at him, gently tapping the tip of his nose. I rest him on my hip, his thin legs wrapped round my waist, arms snaked around my arm.

"Ya hungry kid?" I ask him, walking into Soda's old room and sitting down on the bed. "Yeah! Can I have soup Two-Bit? Please? Please?" he begs me with a smile on his small face. It's so nice to have him back to his normal happy, bubbly self. I root through Sodapop's closet, finally pulling out a faded blue sweatshirt.

"C'mere dude, it's gonna be a little big, but at least you'll be warm." I tell him, pulling the sweatshirt over his head. As he shoves his arms through the sweatshirt, he seems to notice the bulky white cast on his frail arm for the first time.

"Two-Bit, why do I have a cast? Why does everything hurt?" he asks me quickly, running his tongue over his missing teeth.

"You fell out of bed, remember? It hurt a lot." I lie smoothly, almost breaking down and telling him the truth as I look at his grinning little face as he buys my lie. "C'mon Dal, let's go make soup!" I crow, tickling him under the chin before swinging him onto my back. I stop short when I hear his little "oomph" of pain.

"Dally, you okay? You feelin' alright?" I ask anxiously, feeling out of character. It's not in my personality to feel worried.

"Yeah, just hit my ribs funny. I'm good," he whispers, clutching my hand tight.

"Okay..." I say hesitantly, slowly walking into the kitchen. I plunk Dally down on the kitchen table, wheeling around to face him with my trademark smile on my face.

"So what shall it be today Monsieur? Our fine chicken noodle soup, or chocolate cake with our creamy hot chocolate?" I say with a fake French accent, whipping a dishtowel out of the cabinet and tying it like a turban on my head. Dallas giggles, clapping his hands together at my performance.

"Soup please. And can I have tea?" he asks me, trying to keep up my accent.

"Sure little man." I say in my normal voice, going through the Curtis's kitchen cabinets for a can of soup. I find the soup and turn around to ask Dal which one he wants, and he's staring at me with those huge, heartbreaking baby blues. The kids gonna be quite a chick magnet when he gets older. Dallas twirls fingers through his hair.

"Two-Bit, can you stay with me after we have soup? I just kinda want you to stay." he says. "Sure kiddo! For now, I'm your babysitter!" I give him a grin, tickling his stomach. He giggles but breaks off mid-laugh with a cough. I'm instantly frantic as he coughs into his shirt, his coughs not sounding any better than they were. He stops, and gives me a 'who are you and what have you done with Two-Bit' stare. I shake my head, turning around to take a pan out of the cabinet. I pour alphabet soup into the pot and turn up the stove.

"Now sit your butt down and eat my creation." I say, throwing open the bowl cabinet and taking out a bowl. I slop some soup in the bowl, arranging the letters to spell out 'Dallas Sucks!" Dally is waiting with a spoon, and he laughs when he sees the soup. I just love making the kid laugh. His eyes light up and his grin is so innocent and carefree. He could cheer up a whole room with his little six-year old laugh.

He picks at the soup though, eating a couple of letters and drinking a little bit of broth. "You not a fan of my cookin' little man?" I ask, a little concerned about the way he's picking at the food. He smiles at me, but I can see the bags under his eyes from being tired. His whole body still looks incredibly beaten up, but he's starting to look a lot better. He yawns, then answers

"Yeah Two-Bit, I'm just tired. My tummy hurts a little, t-" he gets cut off as Steve slams the front door open and walks into the living room. He tosses his jacket onto the couch, and slouches into the kitchen.

"Hi Steve!" Dally cries, giving him a gap-toothed grin. Steve does a double take at Dally, then rushes over to Dallas, picking him up and swinging him around in a very un-Steve-like manner.

"Hey buddy! How ya feelin'?" Dallas's face is all screwed up in pain, so I slap Steve's head and yell at him to put Dally down.

"Two-Bit..." Dally says shakily, his pale face going completely white.

"I think I'm gonna be sick!" I usher the blonde over to the garbage can, where he leans over and promptly throws up all the soup. I put my arm around him when he's done, stroking his arm.

"C'mon Dally, ya wanna go lie down on the couch and watch some Mickey?" Steve asks guiltily, putting a hand on Dally's shoulder. Dally gives him a small smile and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. I follow them into the living room, flopping down on the couch. Dally clambers up next to me, using my stomach as a pillow as he stretches out on the couch.

"Can I have a"-yawn-"blanket, Steve?" Dally yawns to Steve. Steve tosses the blanket at me and I hand it to Dally, who wraps it around his thin shoulders, bunching up next to my side. "G'nite Two-Bit..." he says faintly as his eyes flutter closed. I smile and wrap my arm around him and whisper "Night bud."

(Darry's Pov)

You pull up into the driveway with a sigh. It's your turn to watch Dallas tonight. You love the kid so god-damned much; it kills you to watch him in pain like he's been. You open the door to your truck and hop out, walking tiredly up the front porch and opening the door to your house.

You're immediately attacked by a little blonde kid who shrieks "DARRY!" and jumps on you from the armchair. You can't believe it. Two-Bit and Steve are playing with Dallas, who's up and healthier-looking. Considering the fact that he's perched on your back, giggling into your ear, he must be feelin' pretty good.

"Hey Buddy! How ya doin'?" you ask him, pulling him carefully off you back and setting him down on the floor.

"Darry!" he yells happily, jumping up to hug you. He wraps his skinny legs around your legs, clinging to you like a barnacle. It's unusual for him to show this kind of affection for someone. You wrap you arms around him, lifting him up to put him on your shoulders. He laughs and you feel like you're going to burst with happiness, hearing his golden, bubbly six-year old laugh. He leans forward over your head and stares at you upside-down, laughing the whole time like it's the funniest thing ever. His matted hair falls in front of his bright blue eyes, and you remind yourself to make the kid take a shower.

"Hi Daaaaaary!" he says in a loopy voice from being upside-down. You grin at him and walk through the living room into the bathroom and plunk Dallas down on the toilet. "You need a shower little man. I'll start making you some dinner. Watcha want?" Dally starts shedding clothes as you ask him.

"I'm not hungry Darry, I threw up before. Can I just have some tea?" You start to get worried because he said he threw up. What if he's still sick?

"Why'd ya throw up little buddy?" you ask him, handing him a towel.

"Cause Steve was spinnin' me around, and I just had soup. My tummy didn't feel that great." he says matter-of-factly, standing there in his underwear and socks. You give yourself another mental note to slap Steve.

"Kay, well, you take a shower, and when you get out, pick out a book from Pony's bookshelf and I'll read it to you." you tell him, brushing his hair out of his face and walking out of the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on and you head into the kitchen to make Dallas some tea. As the water starts to boil, you peek into the living room to see what Two-Bit and Steve are doing. Both of the goons have their ear pressed up to the wall, laughing so hard that they're crying.

"What the hell are you two idiots laughing at?" you ask them sternly, eyeing them suspiciously as you walk up next to Steve.

"Just...listen...superman!" Two-Bit chokes out from between laughs. You put your ear to the wall, and a slow smile spreads across your face. You can hear Dallas singing in the shower. He's actually pretty good. You pull away from the wall when the shower stops and slap Two-Bit and Steve gently across the back of their heads. "Don't tease him," you chastise them in a stern voice before cracking a small grin. Dallas pops out of the bathroom, his hair poofy and sticking up every-which-way.

"Darry!" he hollers, running over to you with a picture book in his small hand.

"Darry, can you read this to me? Pretty please?" he pouts out his lower lip and gives you the puppy-dog face. You take the book from him and see that it's Soda's falling apart copy of The Wizard of Oz, which Dal has already asked you to read four times this month. You sigh theatrically and roll your eyes, holding your hand out for the book. "C'mon, let's go into my room. We'll read The Wizard of Oz." you ruffle Dally's hair and head into your bedroom with Dallas following you. You kick off your shoes and sit on you bed, turning on the light on your nightstand. Dallas hops onto your bed, yawning. He's probably exhausted. You push your pillows up and lean back, opening up the book to the first page. Dally shifts closer to you, wiggling his head under your arm. He rests his head against your shoulder, fingers playing with your shirt. You begin to read.

"Dorothy was a poor farm girl, who lived with her Aunty Em and Uncle Henry..."

* * *

><p>I'm awakened by someone violently shaking my shoulder.<p>

"Darry!"Dallashisses in a teary voice. I raise my head, rubbing my bleary sitting next to me in my bed, his lip quivering and eyes shining with tears. I'm instantly awake.

"Peanut, what's wrong?" I ask, gently rubbing his back. With a whimper,Dallaswraps both of his arms around my chest and buries his face in my shirt. I'm familiar with this routine now. He had a nightmare. I kiss the top of his head and wrap my arms around himself against me, a muffled cry coming out of him.

"You okay honey?" I croon to the shaking child in my arms, wanting so badly to protect him from the world, keep him young and innocent and trusting. The nightmare must have scared him. "Baby, what was it about? Are you okay?" I ask him, tenderly stroking his hair. He shakes his head, pressing his face deeper into my shirt. Sobs wrack his thin shoulders as he bawls into my shirt, tears soaking into the fabric.

I hold him tighter, trying to comfort him. "It's okay Dally, I'm here. It was only a dream, only a dream," I whisper. I decide to take him into the living room to see if any of the guys are out there to help me calmDallasdown. tuck him against my broad chest, carrying the sobbing child out of my room and into the living room. I take a peek at the grandfather clock, and am surprised to see that it's only 12:30 at night. I thought it was a lot later. No shock, Steve, Soda, and Two-Bit, along with Curly and Tim Shepard, are all still awake and laughing. I kick the armchair to get Curly out of it. A hush falls over the once animated conversation as the boys hear Dally's terrified sobbing. Sodas up and next to me almost instantly, concern and pity in his dancing brown eyes. "Is he okay?" he whispers as I sit down, rubbing Dally's back.

"Nightmare," I reply asDallasstarts to hiccup as his little shoulders heave up and down. "What's wrong with the little fucker?" Curly says coldly. Tim slaps him a good one across the head, jerking Curly's head to Tim's lips as Tim hisses a venomous scolding in his ear. I stroke Dal's fine blonde hair, rubbing his back to try to get him to calm down. With a shuddery sigh he buries his face into my shirt again, hiccupping. I shift him slightly so that he's more comfortable and face my gang. Soda is making coffee, Steve and Curly are whispering quietly, and Tim and Two-Bit are staring at me and Dallas with concern. "Nightmare." I tell them, rubbing Dally's shoulder as he shakes. Two-Bit gets up and kneels down next my chair, turning Dally's head to look at him and giving him a big grin.

"Hey Blondie!" he says, making funny faces atDallas. Dally gives him a very small smile, pulling himself tighter against me.

"Oh Dally," I sigh, sitting up a little and allowingDallasto nearly suction himself to me, his head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry Darry, I'm so sorry..." the little six-year old whimpers, latched onto me with a death grip.

"Sweetie, its fine. I'll always be here for you," I tell him softly, gently rubbing circles onto his frail back. The towheaded child sniffs into my shirt, knees knocking together he's shaking so hard. I cradle his flushed face in my hands, gently wiping away stray tears with my thumbs. I tuck a tuft of silky hair behind his ear, stroking his hair.

"Little man, Shhh... Its okay, relax, relax! I got yaDallas, you can sleep. Bud, look at me-" I stare into his red-rimmed baby blues.

"It was just a dream. You're out here now with the gang, now you just lay your head down and sleep." I say softly as he lays his head onto my broad chest with a shaky sigh, still trembling.

I look at his small little face, tear streaks drying in lines, and wonder what his nightmares could be about that he gets so afraid. Two-Bit comes up behind me, his old Mickey Mouse sweatshirt that we all saved up for on his birthday a couple years ago in his hands. "It don't fit me anymore, so I wanted to give it to him. He can grow into it." he thrusts the sweatshirt at me, looking awkward. Two-Bit's a great guy, one of the most loyal people I know. He cares immensely for the members of our gang, but he finds it difficult sometimes to show the gang how much he cares about them. He's not a mushy guy, and any expression except his comical grin looks out of place on his almost always happy face. I smile at Two-Bit, then gently shake Dally, wanting to put the sweatshirt on him so he doesn't get cold. Dally stirs, yawning and then sleepily opening his eyes. "Can you put this sweatshirt on? I don't want you to get cold." he smiles sleepily at me, pulling the sweatshirt over his head and tiredly yanking his arms through. Yawning again, he shakes his head slightly and snuggles up against me again, making a little sound of contentment.

I smile and lean back, closing my eyes and starting to drowse off.


	4. One of those Days

**AN: I am a completely despicable, irresponisible, terrible, disgraceful, revolting human beng. I have abanonded this fic (which I do really like) for months. It is embarrassesing and unforgivable, and please, please, PLEASE pardon me. I have decided to continue with Brothers, since it is interesting for me to write. I also apologize for this chapter_ it is heart-breakingly and UNACEPTABLY short but it was just a little blurg that popped into my mind. Please enjoy it, and don't think too badly of me!  
>loveeeeeeeeee,<br>Alex  
>XOXOXO<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>One of "those" Days...<strong>

You're woken up by little hands tugging at your hair, and someone bouncing on your bed. You groan and roll over, blinking your eyes and squinting to try and see who it is, though you already know. Dallas.

"Darry, Darry, Darry!" he says, not stopping his bouncing. You reach out an arm and grab him around the waist, pulling him down next to you and closing your eyes again. He wraps himself like a limpet around your arm, legs and hands clutching it, and rests his head on your shoulder.

"Darry, I'm hungry!" he whispers, and you sigh and sit up, taking the lords name in vain for making Dallas wake up so god-damned early.

"Little man, can I have ten more minutes? Just ten?" you ask, steeling your nerves against the bundle of blue eyes and skinny limbs that is currently squirming into your lap. He wraps his arms around your neck and curls up to your chest, turning the force of those eyes right at you. It takes all of your willpower not to just cave in and give him what he wants.

"Okayyy." he pouts, and untangles himself from your lap to bounce around on your bed once more. You sigh. It looks like you're not getting back to sleep no matter what. Dally has made that definite.

"Never mind Dal, whattya want to eat?" you ask him, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. Dallas tries to copy you, but only succeeds in making his tufts of blonde hair stick out worse than they were. You smile fondly at him and scoop him into your arms, tickling his stomach with one hand while he shrieks in laughter. If the rest of the house wasn't up already, they definitely are now. Soda pads out of the bathroom in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes with his hands and yawning. You put Dallas down to ruffle your brothers hair.

"Hey Dar, hey Dal." he says sleepily, giving Dally a grin. Dallas smiles back, then skips out of the hallway and into the kitchen, where a shout of "Steve!" can be heard from Two-Bit. You groan and hurry into the kitchen, praying that dumb and dumber haven't broken anything. It's not even eight thirty on Monday morning, you haven't been up for more than fifteen minutes, and yet you feel like the day has been dragging on forever. It's going to be one of "those" days. You head into the kitchen to see what the deal is with the boys, and the usual sight greets you. Steve and Two-Bit are wrestling on the floor, a deck of cards scattered around them. Johnny is sitting quietly on the couch, a piece of bread in his hand, eyes trained on the tv. Ponyboy is standing by the kitchen table, a book in _his_ hand, nodding absently as Dallas prattled on beside him about whatever his imaginative little mind can conjure up. Soda walks behind you and shoves you out of the doorway so he can urn on the stove. You quickly push him out of the way. You don't want everyone having green pancakes and a mix of eggs, bacon, and orange juice together in a "Soda smoothie". That had to be his worst idea yet. The boys all took one sip of the smoothie and went green. Dallas took one sip and promptly puked all over your kitchen floor. The only enjoyment you got out of the whole escapade wad that you made Soda clean up Dally's green barf. It was hysterical and immensely satisfying.

"Little man, what do you want?" you ask over your shoulder to Dallas, seeing that Johnny's got bread, Soda's making himself cereal, Steve and Two-Bit look like they've made themselves pancakes, and Ponyboy usually doesn't eat breakfast. Dallas stops mid-chatter to Ponyboy to chew the inside of his lip.

"Can I have some pancakes Darry?" he smiles sweetly at you, and you reach across the table to smooth down his hair.

"Sure thing. Any particular color, or will regular do?" you ask hesitantly, not sure if you can pull off making colored food. That's usually Soda's job. Dallas screws up his little face in concentration.

"I just want 'em regular. Sometimes they give me a st... Sto... Stomachache." he looks proud of himself for being able to say the word. You smile back and turn to the stove, and you feel extremely relieved that there's already a pancake sitting on a plate by the sink. You think it's from Steve, but you want to check.

"Hey Stevie- can Dal have the last pancake? I don't wanna make no more if I don't have to." you stare out of the door that goes into the living room just as Steve looks up at you.

"Sure, I left it out for Peanut. Just give it to the booger-monster." you laugh slightly at Steve's "terms of endearment" and turn back to the kitchen. You open a cabinet and take out the syrup, then grab a fork and a knife out of your silverwear drawer. You drown the pancake in syrup and cut it, then slide the plate across the table to Dally; who claps his hands in delight and grasps the fork tightly in his small fist, shoveling the pancake in. You shake your head at his eating habits, then start loading all the dishes piled up in the sink into the dishwasher. The amount of dishes that are already there, even at nine o'clock, surprise you. The front door crashes open and spams shut again, and Tim Sheppard slouches into your kitchen.

"TIM!" Dally shrieks, hopping out of his seat and leaping onto Tim, hugging the hoods leg tightly. Tim pats his head awkwardly, like one would do to a good dog.

"Hey kid." Tim mutters, carefully prying Dally off of his legs and sitting down at your kitchen table, long legs crossed across another chair.

"I need breakfast." he drawls, absently chewing on his nails and examining them for dirt. You want to just cry. Who else in the freaking neighborhood wants food?

"You lazy ass- you can't get nothing at your own house?" you growl, but you slam the cabinet open and take out two bowls. You proceed to fill them both with cereal and you shove one at Tim, who grunts and starts to eat like he hasn't seen food in weeks. You take the other bowl and sit down across from Tim. Dallas takes the opportunity to clamber up into your lap and pick the dry Cheerios out of your bowl. You can't help but chuckle at him, and give the little kid a gentle squeeze with one arm. He wiggles his butt on your lap and starts now talking a mile a minute to Tim.

"Tim, do you like Cheeros? I love Cheeros! Sometimes, Soda makes them for me and he makes them color green! They make my teeth green!" he grins big at Tim, showing him all of his perfectly white tiny teeth. You almost snort at the way he pronounces Cheerios.

"Yeah, yeah. Soda's just a moron Dal, we all know that." Tim says as he slurps the milk out of his bowl. You give your last spoonful of Cheerios to Dally, who eagerly grasps the spoon and munches away. You stand up and set Dallas down, placing your bowl in the sink carefully.

"C'mon bud," you say to Dally, propelling him in the direction of the hallway.  
>"You need to get changed for school. Lets go." Dallas harrumphs and slumps away down the hallway, still grumbling as he opens the door to Soda and Pony's room. You keep a dresser with their old clothes in the corner of the room for him, seeing as he never leaves and his father never buys him new clothes. Since Soda and Ponyboy both grew like weeds, all the clothes that you have for Dally are from ten, twelve years ago. The kid is so freaking tiny! He fits into the clothes that your brothers wore when they were four or five.<p>

"Put on a sweatshirt!" you yell down the hallway, looking out the window at the gusty near-winter wind. The kid needs new shoes too... You'll have to go up in the attic and see if your mother saved any of you old shoes for Dal.

"That goes for both of you." you shake a finger at Ponyboy and Soda, who both give you innocent, "I always listen to you Darry!" expressions.

"Please, all o' you- ya need to get crackin'. Y'all need to be at school in fifteen minutes." you address that towards the whole group now, seeing that Tim's gone and everyone but your brothers and Steve look ready to go. You hear into your bedroom and strip off your flannel pajama pants, grabbing a clean long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans off your chair. When you have your clothes on, you dash into the bathroom to brush your teeth and throw a little grease in you hair.

"Dallas Winston! Get your butt in here!" you shout around your toothbrush, remembering that Dallas didn't brush his teeth this morning. He comes into the bathroom, still grumpy about having to change out of his pajamas. He dressed himself in a pair of jeans that must've been Ponyboy's- they've got huge ripped patches on the knees- Two-Bit's old Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, and a pair of faded Converse High-Tops the gang got him as a birthday present. You're proud of him- his outfit actually matches for once! He makes a face at you and grabs his toothbrush off the counter, squeezing a ridiculous amount of toothpaste onto it and jamming it into his mouth. You chuckle at his childish anger. He can just be so god-damned cute all the time! You wish you could keep him young and happy like this, young and innocent and carefree. But when you grow up in Tulsa, that doesn't happen very often. Ponyboy is lucky that he is so unaffected by everything going on around him. Dallas spits in the sink, and then, just to spite you, he turns around and wipes his toothpaste-y mouth all over your clean shirt. You clench your teeth together and breathe out heavily through your nose. Dallas grins impishly at you, then takes off running and disappears into the kitchen.

"C'mon Peanut!" Soda calls, his golden head popping out into the hallway.

"Dar, everyones in the truck. We're waitin' for ya." You look down at your shirt and sigh. You're just gonna have to deal. You walk out of the bathroom and down the hallway, grabbing your toolbar on the way out of your house. The gang is piled into your old, beat-up truck the way they do every morning- Two-Bit, Steve, Soda and Dallas are crammed in the backseat, Pony and Johnny squish in with you in the front. Everyones talking at once in the small cab- you can hear them even though all the doors are shut. Your breath frosts in the cool air as you drop you bag into the truck bed. You are gonna kill those brothers of your if they didn't wear jackets.


	5. Never a Boring Morning

**AN: OOOH, and update so soon!? (a very SUPER SHORT update, but still an update!) I really enjoy writing this stry, but I don't really know why. It's just... fun, I guess/ :D Thanks to everyone who's reviewed the last chapter and added this to their favorites and everything in between. :) It means a lot to have positive feedback on my stories!  
>Anywaayyss, enjoy this little chappie and get ready for the next! YAYYY<br>Love,  
>Alex<br>XOXOXO**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Never a Boring Morning<span>**

As you predicted, no one except for Dallas is wearing a jacket, and Dally looks exceptionally pissed about it. His face is set in a scowl and he's smushed in between Soda and Two-Bit. He's not even responding to Soda's funny faces or Two-Bit's jokes. Steve is pressed up against the door next to Two-Bit, staring out the window with a "Please, kill me right now" expression.

You know exactly how he feels. Cramming seven people, even if one is small enough to sit on someones lap, isn't fun. You slide into the front seat and start the car, wincing at the gasping rumble that emits from the hood of your ancient truck. You need to have Steve look at it soon. You turn and give Ponyboy the stink eye. He flinches and offers you a sheepish smile. you lightly cuff the back of his head.

"Bud, if you get sick, I ain't taking no complaining. That is going to be all your fault." Ponyboy just shrugs his shoulders and goes back to talking to Johnny. You yell over you shoulder "That goes for you too!" at Soda as you pull out of the driveway. Soda doesn't even respond. You really don't know how your parents did it, keeping sane dealing with your brothers and another four boys and all.

The first stop is the elementary school, and Dallas is still mad, so he makes Soda get out of the car with him and walk him to the building. You see him hug Soda's legs before skipping into the school, so you figure Soda must've promised that he could have something if he cheered up. Soda jogs down the hallway and stops before the car, biting his lip as he stares at the doors, obviously trying to make his mind up about something. He nods o himself and opens the front door instead of the back, and you can hear Steve and Two-Bit in the back hissing "YES!"

Now it's you, Johnny, Ponyboy, and Sodapop crammed into the fron seat of your truck, all because Soda was too lazy to go in the back. You rub the side of your head and shift your truck into gear. Sometimes, your family just amazes you.

The next stop is the high school, and you rev the engine, trying to get there as fast as possible. Soda's fiddling with the radio, Pony and Johnny are being socially awkward again and are just sitting next to each other, neither saying a word, Two-Bit is singing some retarded song about beer, and Steve is loudly complaining about how he hates each and every one of you. What a lovely way to start off you day.

You blow a red light and slam on the brakes in front of the big brick building, pointing silently out the door to tell everyone to get the hell out of your car. Steve hops out with a loud "FINALLY!" and it takes all of your control not to wring his stupid little neck. Best pal of Soda's or not, the kid definately has a bad attitude sometimes. Two-Bit gives you an easy-going grin and follows Steve, as do Pony and Johnny. Soda gets back in the car and sighs.

"Ya know, sometimes life is just so tough?" you snort- life wouldn't be tough without all the people around you who seem to exist simply to eat your food, lay on your couches, and purposely drive you crazy. You squeeze Soda's shoulder as you turn away to go to the DX.

"Bud, I hear you. I definately hear you."

* * *

><p>Your car shudders to a stop in front of the school and you get out, wincing as sore muscles in your back shriek in protest. You lean against the hood of your truck and wait for Dallas to come out, running down the sidewalk like he usually does, then taking an enormous flying leap and hugging you. You're really shocked when he's the last kindergartener out of the building, and his little shoulders are slumped, head down. You quickly stride down the walkway and kneel before him, tilting up his pointed little chin to look at his face.<p>

What you see makes your stomach churn and your vision go red. Dallas has a vivid black eye. You stay calm and cool for him though since he looks like he's about to bawl.

"Oh honey, what happened? Did someone hit you?" you ask softly, and Dallas's big blue eyes, which had been brimming with tears, blink once and let all the tears spill down his cheeks.

"Daaarry!" he wails, lunging forward and burying his face into your shirt, sobbing his little heart out. You pick him up and let him wrap his legs around your waist as you walk back to the car. You're so pissed you can barely see straight. What right does anyone have to hit your Dally? Dally, who is one of the sweetest little kids you know, wouldn't hurt a freaking fly! It breaks your heart to see him so upset. You open the car door and slide it in, shutting it behind you. Dally is clinging to you so tightly that you don't have the heart to pry him off. instead, you just sit and rub his back soothingly.

"Little man," you ask gently. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" He shakes his head violently against your neck and hiccoughs. You sigh, and ask him again.

"Peanut, can you please tell me? Please?" Slowly, his sobs fade out into whimpers and hiccoughs. He looks up at you and sniffs.

"Daddy, Billy punched me during snacktime." he sniffles, and you stiffen and bite your lip at the calling of "Daddy" again. It makes you feel funny when he calls you Daddy, though you do reckon your one of the only father figures the kid has. It seems when he's really upset, he automatically reverses back to Daddy.

"He did?" you probe, mentally going through the list of kids you know. You don't think you've ever heard of this Billy. Dally nods.

"H-he said I was trash. What's trash? And he m-made fun of my jeans." Dallas frowns at his legs, staring at the knees, which are all ripped. His bony kneecaps can be seen sticking out of the faded material. For Christ's sake, the soc/greaser rivalry is in the kindergarten now? You don't know how to explain that to Dally, but now he's looking at you earnestly, wanting you to make everything right in his little world again. You clear your throat and let him place his thumb in his mouth and scotch closer to you, breathing still wacky from crying.

"Well kiddo, trash isn't a very nice thing to call someone. It means that they don't have a lot of money and aren't very nice." you think that's a pretty decent way to explain it. Not too harsh, and now he'll know what it means.

"Are we trash Darry? Because we're all nice!" he looks startled now, and you see tears start to well up in his eyes again.

"No, no, Dal. We don't have that much money, but we ain't trash. Don't worry about it." you ruffle his hair.

"And I for one think your jeans are very nice." you smile down at him, and he smiles in happiness at the compliment, his crying of not even ten minutes ago shown only by the red in his eyes and his runny nose. You wish you could be like a little kid again- sobbing one minute, giggling the next. Dallas twitches his nose as it runs, and he looks up at you pleadingly.

Against your better judgement, you sigh and offer your sleeve to him, which he takes and wipes his nose on. You make a face and shake it around a little, while Dallas laughs. You roll your eyes and start the car. You have to go pick up all the rest of the boys, and Steve gets pissed if he has to wait long. Dallas scoots up on the seat and tries to peer out of the windshield.

"Darry, can I stay? I don't wanna go in the back." he makes a face, and you can't blame him. There's usually three other people smushed in the back with him. You smile fondly at him.

"No bud, you can stay up here. I wouldn't want to sit in the back either." You pull slowly off of the curb and turn the car around in someones driveway. Dally pulls himself over to the window and stares out, smiling and laughing at the things he sees. He waves at someone riding a bicycle, a lady walking her dog, and someone who looks suspiciously like Curly Shepard. He bangs on the window and yells "CURLY!" you roll down the window for him and pull over next to Curly, who turns around and gives you a little half-wave.

"Hi Curly!" Dallas says, voice going almost shrill with excitement.

"Hey Blondie." Curly smirks and starts to walk away. You smile at Dally's open friendliness and his happiness.

"Bye-bye!" he yells out the window, and you pull away and roll up his window. You have to get to the high school in just a few moments. Dally bounces up and down on his seat, looking around him with rapt fascination. You turn onto the high schools street just as you can see miniature figures start to pour out of the school. You ease the car to a stop in front of the school and wait, Dally eagerly looking around to find any of the gang. No sign of Ponyboy or Johnny, and they're usually the first ones out. No Two-Bit or Steve either. To your surprise, Soda of all people ambles up to the car and opens the door, hopping in with a big smile on his face.

"Hey Dar, hey Dal!" he exclaims, ruffling Dally's hair.

"Pepsi, ain't you supposed to be at the DX?" you ask quizzically, again feeling the sharp prick of shame that you allowed your brother to be a teenage dropout. Soda shrugs his shoulders and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, sighing in pleasure as he stretches.

"Ehh, Steve came by bout an hour ago, cuttin' the rest of the day. He said he was gonna be out late with Evie, and it been really slow all day for me. I just closed up early and headed here to meet y'all. I saw Two-Bit before, and he told me that him, Pony, and Johnny was gonna head off to the Dingo after school and catch the nightly double. So, here I am. You just got me and Dal." Soda smiles big at you, and you can't help but smile back. It's not gonna be a bad evening when you have your happy-go-lucky brother and Dallas with you.

"It just gonna be us?" Dally asks excitedly. You think he likes having you and Soda all to himself. Soda grabs him around the middle and starts to tickle his armpits, utterly oblivious of the shiner on his right eye. Dallas screams in laughter and you just chuckle. It's nice to have a quiet night without all of Tulsa crowded in your living room.


	6. Dinner at the Diner

**AN: Hey guys.. I'm really upset today, but I'll start off by thanking everyone who's reading and reviewing. I'm glad your enjoying my story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I also want to apologize for such a short chapter, but I am really not in the mood for writing, as I will now tell you.**

**I was at a lake yesterday with my family, and I watched a two and a half year old boy drown. He went out into the water, went under, and lost conciousness. The lifeguards found him and tried to give him AED and recisitate him, but I think it was too late. The poor kid didn't have a pulse. His mom was there with a 2 week old baby. The little boys name was Connor. He wasn't even three years old. **

**I would like everyone who is reading to say a prayer for Connor and his family. Their lives will never be the same again, and it's the least we can do to help them grieve. Seeing this incredibly sad event really made me think about how many things we take for granted and how really insignifigant we humans truly are. If God could ccome and take this innocent toddler away, then he could just as easily do it for anyone else. So please, if you have a younger sibling or cousin or neighbor, hug them and tell them you love them, because you never know when it could be the last time you say it to them. So, this entire chapter is dedicated in remembrence of Connor, since he was taken much too soon.**

**Please say a prayer for Connor and his mom. **

**Have a good day everyone.**

**Love,  
>Alex<br>XOXOXO**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Dinner at the Diner<span>**

As you drive back to your house, you start thinking about what you're going to make for dinner. You really don't feel like cooking anything major, so you decide to ask Dally and Soda what their opinion of stopping by the diner near your house is.

"You two wanna stop by the EverReady, then head home? I'm beat, and I don't really want to be cooking." you say, and Soda and Dal both whip their heads around to stare at you with huge grins on their faces. They both nod vigorously, and you smile. Going to the diner is a big treat for your family, since you have to scrimp and save all the time. The last time you went our for dinner was probably four months ago. Then again, that time you had to pay for seven people. Now, it's only you three.

Dallas is continuously bouncing on his seat, totally filled with joy that he gets to go out to eat. Him and Soda made up some game where every time a blue car passes, you have to clap your hands twice and hit the other person in the forehead while shouting "BLUEBERRY!" You're suspecting that it was all Soda's doing, but it's keeping them distracted, so you leave them be.

You really enjoy spending time with your middle brother, since you never get to see him lately. He's always off with Steve or with Sandy or working at the gas station. He's so easy and genuinely enjoyable to be around. You love Ponyboy just the same, but sweet Jesus, that kid seems to live for getting you annoyed and getting himself royally fucked by not paying attention to anything. He's one of the smartest kids you know, but you think that where he's supposed to have common sense, there's nothing but empty air and cobwebs in his head. Soda's pretty much the opposite. He ain't that smart, and he knows it, but at least he has the sense not to go wandering off by himself to go look at leaves. Golly, you don't know what Pony was thinking on that one... Soda does have his incredibly difficult moments, but those are moments of incredibly stupidity, like when he and Two-Bit thought it was funny to go on the roof of the DX and throw water balloons at passing people and passing cars. The result was Two-Bit got jailed for the night, but Soda was able to weasel out of getting any punishment. They both may give you hell, but you love them all the more for it.

You pull up to the ancient EverReady Diner and turn off your car. Soda and Dallas nearly rip the door off it's hinges in their race to get into the diner first, and you laugh. Soda gets along so well with Dal because he acts just like him. Not a very good role model for a six-year old to have, but a good older brother figure all the same. You follow them into the diner and see that they've already seated themselves in a booth by the window. You slide into the booth opposite them and pick up the menu, scanning it briefly for what you want to eat, though you know what you're gonna get. You get it every time you come here. A cheeseburger with everything on it, sweet potato fries, and a diet coke. It's a perfect dinner. You glance warily up at Soda and Dal, who have their heads bent together, giggling at something on the menu.

You smile at the difference in hair tones. Soda takes pride in having golden hair, which no one else in your family has, but his hair looks almost dark brown compared to Dally's towheaded head. Dally's hair is so light! That, coupled with the big blue eyes and impish smile, give him an angelic appearance, which you know is only half true. Dal's a sweetheart, but he also has moments where the famous "Winston" temper flares and he can turn into a little devil. Luckily, that rarely happens. He's mostly happy-go-lucky, much like Soda.

The waitress comes over, chewing loudly on bubblegum, and snaps you out of you thoughts.

"Whaddya wanna drink?" she asks, eyes only for Sodapop. He flashes her a big grin, and you kick him under the table. Damn ladykiller...

"Umm.. I'm gonna get me a Pepsi." he winks at her, then nudges Dallas gently in the ribs.

"Chocolate milk." Dallas says sweetly, batting his eyes at her and giving her an angelic, gap-toothed smile.

"Aren't you a doll!" she exclaims, giving Dal a big smile. You sigh and grind your teeth. Soda is definitely a bad influence sometimes. Teaching a six year old to flirt? She looks back over at you, and you say "A diet coke, please." she nods and writes everything down on a little pad, then Walks away, swinging open the door to the kitchen. You stare at Soda and scowl.

"And what exactly was that about? You have a girlfriend!" you say, and Soda just gives you his famous smile.

"Aww, lighten up Superman! I can have a Lil fun. I was teaching Peanut here how to win over the ladies." Dallas nods and winks at you, and you cover your eyes with your hands. You have completely, utterly failed at life. Soda and Dallas burst into giggles, and you can't help chuckling with them. You don't know what you'd do if you didn't have your brothers with you. The waitress comes back with your drinks, and Dally attacks his chocolate milk like he hasn't drunk anything in years.

"Easy little man! Slower!" you warn him, taking a refreshing sip of your coke.

"So, you know what you want?" you ask them, and they both nod.

"I want soup." Dally says absently, chewing on the end of his straw and staring into space.

"I'm gonna have chicken fingers." Soda smiles and takes a drink of his Pepsi.

"Thanks for takin' us here Dar. We haven't been in a while." he says, and your stomach is filled with a happy, fuzzy feeling. You're really glad you did something to make them happy.

* * *

><p>"Ugghh..." Soda groans, holding his stomach as you all walk ouit of the diner. You couldn't agree more with him. You all stuffed your faces with your food and even split a huge sundae for desert. Though, Soda only had three chicken fingers, so you figure that he's just being dramatic.<p>

"So.." You sy when you all are in the car.

"What do you two wanna do tonight? It's only six o'clock." you look up at the sky- it looks much too dark for only six in the evening, and it looks like it might snow, which is unusal for Tulsa, even in early December. You hope Ponyboy is inside and safe somewhwere...

"Well, I say we go home and watch a movie.' Soda says, and Dally's eyes light up.

"Please Darry? Please oh please oh please can we? I want to watch the Wizard of Oz!" you reach over Soda and ruffle Dally's hair. The kid has a scary obbession with that movie and that book.

"We have the Wizard of Oz at home, don't we Dar?" Soda asks, scratching his arm and peering out the window. One white flake suddenly lands on your windshield, then another, then another. Dallas nearly whoops in excitement, and he kneels on the seat, face pressed up to the glass, which frosts up with his warm breath.

"Darry, it's snowing! It's SNOWING!" he yells excitedly, and even Soda is bouncing around next to you, as jittery as a little kid on Christamas morning. You smile at their excitement.

"I'd say that we definately go home and watch a movie now. And I'll make hot chocolate and we can turn the heat on real low and get blankets." the squeals you get at your suggestion confirm it.

You hunch down over the steering wheel, staring out into the thickening snow with caution. You start to drive slower, since you don't have much practice driving in the snow and you want to make sure everything is safe.


	7. Settling Down

**AN:**** Omg does anyone even remember this story anymore? I'm updating on a complete whim- this chapter is super short and probably crap, but I figured what the heck- why not? How's everyones lives at this moment? Christmas is only 20 days away :) Its the most wonderful time of the year! Thanks to everyone who reviewed by last chapter! All the reviews were nice and I really enjoy reading em :) So, tell me what you think about this, even though its awful D: Anyone have ay deas/requests for anything they'd like to happen in this story? I'm kinda at a loss...  
>Well, anywhoo..<br>Enjoy this and have a wonderful day!  
>(I've been on a mission lately to spread good karma by making others feel good. So, help me on my mission by spreading a little good to everyone you see in your day. Compliment someone you don't usually talk to on their outfit, say hi to a stanger on the street, tell a little sibling how well thewy can do something... I dont know! Just spread a little good- lets say a hudred people read this. Now, if even twenty of those hundred people spread the good to another person, then that will be forty people feeling great. So smile and feel good about yourself. I'm sure you all looked lovely today :D)<br>I love you all bunches  
>Love,<br>Alex :)  
>XOXOXO<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Settling Down<strong>

You pull up into your driveway and stop the car, opening your door and breathing in the crisp winter air. Dallas bounds out of the car and runs in a circle, laughing and spinning his arms out, staring up at the sky. You smile at his little kid enthusiasm and just shake your head as Soda leaps out of the car and does the same as Dally. You close the door and turn your face up to the sky, watching as all the snow falls from the heavens. You love snow. It's gotta be one of the prettiest things you've ever seen. It makes everything look so clean and pure. If you get enough snow, maybe the boys will all get off from school. Speaking of the boys, where's Ponyboy and Johnny? They were supposed to be with Two-Bit, but you haven't heard from them in a few hours. You reassure yourself that Ponyboy would be responsible and hanker down somewhere until the snow either stopped, or stay the night somewhere. And he's with Johnny, who is at least knowledgable enough to know that you'll be worrying. Two-Bit you don't know about...  
>You push the thought to the back of your mind. They'll come in safely.<p>

Soda sticks out his tongue and catches a snowflake, wiggling his tongue as the coldness seeps into his mouth. There's already a light dusting on the ground, and Dallas scoops some up into a small hand and runs over to you. You pretend to look over towards the house, giving him full aim of your back. A light thump hits you, and you turn around, face theatrically outraged and surprised. Dallas giggles and runs away, looking very smug at his "victory". You run your arms briskly- you're starting to get a bit cold. Dal really should have mittens or a hat or something...

"Guys, come on in. It's getting cold and I wanna check the weather!" you call, and Dally skips over to your side, his white-blond head looking even whiter with the flecks of snow covering it. Soda ambles over, looking around in delight. He loves snow almost as much as you do- you think it's because you don't get to see it that often.

"Little man, you wanna take a shower now?" you ask Dallas as you walk up the walkway towards your house, opening the gate to let Soda and Dallas through, then shutting it after yourself. Dally bites the inside of his lip, deep in thought.

"Yeah..." he says after a moment, reaching up to scratch his head.  
>"And Darry?"<p>

You look down at him, and he's frowning now.

"What Dal? You need anything?" he looks embarrassed, and you lean down to his level so he can whisper in your ear.

"My eye is hurting. I want it to go away." you stand up again and stroke his hair.

"Course I'll make it go away. You've been really brave about it Peanut. I bet if Steve got a black eye he'd be crying!" Dallas visibly swells with pride, and you laugh on the inside. Little booger thinks he's so tough...

He hugs your leg and you smile at him. He's gotta be one of the cutest little things you've ever seen. He giggles and scampers off through your house, his small feet pattering on your worn floorboards. You run a hand through your hair and try to shake some of the snow out. It's melting and running down the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end. You walk through the hallway and into your room, stripping your wet shirt off and throwing it into your hamper. You take your jeans off after an afterthought- they're all dirty from work and you're really not gonna be doing much tonight, so you might as well just put on pajamas.

The bathroom door slams and Dallas comes running into your room, launching himself onto your bed with a tremendous leap. You shake your head and laugh at him, then fall onto the bed with him, grabbing him around the middle and tickling him. He giggles and smacks at your face, pushing your nose up and trying to squirm away. He finally wrenches away from you and gives you an angelic smile, but his eyes are narrowed dangerously. The infamous Winston temper is flaring. He moves like he's gonna give you a hug, but at the last second, he pulls back and sinks his teeth into your hand.

"SHIT!" you bellow, clutching your hand to your chest and glaring at Dallas.

"Dallas Winston, what the hell was that about? I've half a mind to strangle you right now! ... I think you broke the skin, you little rat!" The little devil just grins at you and scampers off your bed and out of your room, his laughter echoing down the hallway.  
>You can hear Soda singing in the kitchen, banging pots and pans together, as you root through your drawer, trying to find a pair of sweatpants. You finally find a pair that aren't too ratty or full of paint, and an old football treatise of yours. You check your arm at the bite marks on your arm it looks like you got attacked by a rabid monkey! You pull on some socks and sigh with the relish of clean clothes. You head out of your bedroom and into the kitchen, where Sodapop is busy laughing to himself and tryin' ta cook, while succeeding in making something only half-edible and plenty weird, even though you all just ate less than forty-five minutes ago. You sigh and head out of the dangerous cooking area, leaving Soda to his own devices. You shuffle into the living room and collapse onto the worn couch, leaning you head back and closing your eyes. It feels so good just to be able to relax for a while...<p>

A weight hits you and causes you to jerk out of a doze and blink around furiously. Dallas giggles and touches his nose to yours, pressing his baby-soft cheek against yours and wrapping his arms around your neck.

"Wizard of Oz?" he pleads, giving you the puppy dog eyes, his lower lip trembling. You laugh and ruffle his hair.

"'Course Peanut. Go on and put it in." Dallas gives you a large, gaptoothed grin. He jumps off the couch and runs into the hallway. You hear him and Soda talking in the kitchen, and Dallas reappears, dragging Soda by one hand, who is cradling a large plate of purple pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. You sigh at Soda's never-ending appetite. The boy can eat absolutely anything he wants, and never gain an ounce. Dallas flops down in front of you, on the floor with a blanket and a pillow, his head propped up by his hands. Soda pops the tape into the TV, and wanders back over to where Dallas is, laying down beside him and pushing the plate of pancakes in between the two as the movie starts. You turn around to turn off the light as the screen fills with the opening credits.

You don't exactly know when you drifted off, but you do know that you're woken by a little warm body trying to squeeze itself next to you. Still half asleep, you lift your arm up and Dallas squirms in next to you, his fluffy blonde hair tickling your nose. You gently run a hand through it- he's still got soft and fine little kid hair, and you love that he does. He curls up next to you, tugging a blanket (your comforter off your bed) you notice dryly) with him, and tucking it around you and himself with care. He jams his little feet under your leg, but pauses, and scrambles into your lap instead. He pulls the blanket up high, Your chin resting on his damp hair, breathing in his clean little kid smell. He presses a small hand against your neck, and cranes his neck up to peck you on the cheek.

"Darry?" he asks, and you jerk awake again, blinking your eyes furiously.

"What's up little man? Whatcha thinking about?" you reply, rubbing his shoulders. He shifts around on your lap, then grabs your hand, playing with your fingers.

You glance down on the floor to see Soda sprawled out, mouth open, taking up both pillows and the entire blanket. No wonder Dallas came up here with you.

He rubs at his eyes, and you tilt his pointed chin up to look at his baby blues. They're teary, and his black eye is so swollen you can barely see his right eye. You hug him to you and he let's out a shuddery sigh, worming as tight as he possibly can against you.

"Darry, when do you think they'll stop makin' fun?" his simple question breaks your heart. Why should a kid like him have to go through bullying and teasing and name-calling, simply because he lived on the wrong side of the tracks? What six year old should have to come home from freaking KINDERGARTEN with bruises and scrapes and mean words of torment.

You lean your head back and sigh.

"I don't know baby. I really don't know. Don't let it get you down though- remember that the bullies are just jealous of you." the lie burns on your tongue, but it seems to have relaxed the kid, so you let him believe it.

"I remember Sodapop and Pony and me had to to through the same thing, and Johnny and Stevie and Two-Bit, too. O  
>If you ever need someone to talk to little man, I'm here, okay?"<p>

He sniffs against you neck and you feel his lips curve up into a smile. He cranes his neck up and gives you a soft peck on the cheek before snuggling down into your neck.

"I love you Darry." he says seriously, muffed by your skin, a yawn almost interrupting his words. You smile drowsily.

"Love you too kiddo."


	8. Sick Snow Day

**AN: ****WHOO an update so soon? THE APOCALYPSE! I decided to just upload this quick- its a little longer than the last one thankfully! Hope everyoness having a good week, and theres only 27 days until Christmas! :DDD  
>Thanks to<br>TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom (great name by the way XD I love it!) and The Punk In Disguise (also another cool username) and anyone who's favorited this story! :) Im glad for the positive feedback!  
>And you're starting off your day with some good sick angst. Who doesn't love sick angst? :)<br>Everyone have a wonderful weekede and I love you all!  
>Enjoy and review please!<br>Love,  
>Alex<br>XOXOXO**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Sick Snow Day<span>**

There's a soft snoring in your ear, and a solid but light weight sprawled on top of you. You sleepily blink your eyes, scrunching your face up and yawning widely. You open your eyes and rub one hand you your aching neck- you must've slept in a weird position last night. Its gotta be around nine o'clock in the morning, and you realize with a jolt that you all overslept, and now you'll be late for work and the boys will be late for school.

You ease a deeply sleeping Dallas off of you, and the kid mumbles something unintelligible and continues snoozing on, burrowing deeper into your comforter and turning his head to the left. You leap up, and tiptoe over Soda, who is curled up in a ball on the floor, his blanket half off of him, facedown on a couple of pillows. You bolt into the kitchen, and the clock says 9:30! You didn't realize how late you slept! You head back out into the living room to wake Soda and Dally, but a frost of white covering your window stops you. You can't even see outside! You walk over to the front door and cautiously opening the door, gasping as you see the sight around you.

Everywhere there's a blanket of white- some drifts piled as high as a foot or two. You guessed that school was cancelled, and you sure as hell weren't gonna be able to go out and fix roofs today. With a satisfied smile, you head back into the living room to nap for a little while longer, seeing as you have the day off. Without you there, Dallas has moved to take over nearly the entire couch, his tousled white-blonde head just visible above your comforter. Soda mumbles something about Steve and you resign yourself to the armchair, grabbing an extra threadbare blanket from next to Soda and resting your head back and closing your eyes. It's so warm and you feel so lazy...

You're woken maybe a little while later by a trembling hand shaking your knee. It's gotten much darker out since you fell asleep, and you think that maybe another storms blowing through. You blink groggily around you and focus on the little figure in front of you- Dallas slowly swims into view. You groan when you realize he's chalk-white, shivering, and covered in his own puke. He's usually a pretty resilient kid- he doesn't get sick that often. But ever since that bad case of pneumonia mixed with a beating he'd had about three months ago, his immune system seemed to be weaker then normal. He'd been coming down with colds and flus a lot more than usual. A tear trickles down his cheek and he holds his arms out to you, clearly begging to be held.

"C'mere kiddo..." you sigh, opening your arms and letting the miserable kid climb into your lap, smelling strongly of vomit. You kiss his clammy forehead and stroke his sweaty hair back, pressing your cheek against his brow to check if he has a temperature- it doesn't feel too bad, but it's definitely high. You try not to focus on the vomit that is now smeared on your shirt and stand up, Dallas hugging your neck tight. A thought hits you- Dal won't be able to play in the snow today. For some reason, it oddly depresses you. You wanted the kid to be able to enjoy the snow and have fun- it's not very often that he sees it. Maybe you can bundle him up and take him out onto the porch later... Right now though, you need to focus on making the bundle of misery in your arms feel better. You have to clean him up, he's got a smear of something around his mouth, and you shudder as he wipes his face on the collar of your shirt. You carry him into the bathroom and set him down on a toilet, and he stares at you despondently, his eyes glassy and filled with tears.

"Peanut, I gotta go grab a new shirt- can you sit here until I get back? Then I'll give you a nice warm bath. How does that sound?" he nods, his little chin quivering and his shoulders shaking. You stand up and sigh again, carefully pulling your teeshirt over your head as you walk out of the bathroom and throwing it in the garbage in the kitchen. There's no use saving it now. You grab a clean shirt out of the laundry room and shrug it on, then turn back into the bathroom. Dallas hasn't moved from where you left him, but he looks up when you walk in and sobs.

"Aw honey..." you murmur, running a hand through his matted hair.

"Darry, my tummy hurts real bad." he whimpers, tears coursing down his cheeks. You know it must be really, really hurtin'- Dallas isn't much of a crier.

"Please make it go away Dawwy..." you name dissolves into sobbing, and he wraps his arms around his stomach and hunches over, making sad little noises. You rub his little heaving back as you turn the tub on, tilting his chin up with one finger.

"Hey bud?" you say softly, looking him in the eye. His are red and runny, and he stifles a hiccup.

"Let's get those dirty clothes off and get you into this tub. When you're done, we can go lie down and I'll make you some tea. Okay little man?" he nods, but suddenly clamps a small hand over his mouth. You jab a wastebasket under his chin before he pukes all over the floor. He let's out a feeble wail when he's done, and you hand him a towel to wipe his mouth with. He holds out his arms again, but before you let him hug you, you carefully peel off his filthy shirt, and he wraps his thin arms tight around your neck, his tears soaking into your shirt.

"Come on Peanut, let's get you into that bath..." you say, dipping one finger into the perfect bathwater. Dallas shudders and stands up, stumbling a little. You steady him with a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he shakily removes his pajama bottoms and his socks, then his underwear. You help him into the bath and he sighs once the warm water hits his skin, his chills stopping a little bit. You smile sadly and bunch up the towel and push it behind his head so he has a headrest.

"Baby, how you feeling?" you croon, running a hand through his hair. His eyes are closed, but he shrugs.

"Darry... Darry, can you stay? Don' go Darrryyy..." he pleads, clutching at your hands.

"I won't go Dal, shhh... It's okay. Do you want me to wash your hair?" he nods feebly, and you fill up a cup you Kees un the shower for situations like this with warm water, carefully pouring it over his hair. You tenderly scrub his scalp with the light shampoo, dinky remembering moments when you gave Soda or Ponyboy or even Dallas baths as babies. Dal really isn't so far from being a baby himself... When you've finished with his hair, you notice that the water's starting to get cold, and Dal is starting to shiver.

"You wanna get out little man?" you ask, and he nods wearily, still not opening his eyes. You pull the plug on the rub and the water starts to chug steadily out of your old bathtub. You grab another towel off of the kitchen sink and wrap Dally in it when he stands up, blinking sleepily, eyes glazed over and feverish. You scoop him up and rest him on your hip, his wet hair cold against your neck. He sleepily places a thumb in his mouth, and you stoke back the unruly blonde hair. You bump into a tired looking Steve, who's on his way to the bathroom. He nods at you, but his eyes open wide when he sees Dallas. 'Sick' you mouth and he frowns, obviously concerned over the kids health. You wave him along to the bathroom, anxious to get Dal into some warm pajamas and into bed. You set him down on Soda's bed and he couture the towel tighter around him, his thumb deep in his mouth. You root through his drawer and feel rather successful when you find a pair of sock, some underwear, a long-sleeved Mickey shirt, and a pair of red plaid pajama pants.

You dress Dallas like he's a rag doll- he's almost too tired to do it himself. Once he's all cleaned up and ready to to back to bed, you pick him up again, and walk back into the living room. You grind your teeth in frustration when you see that your comforter and Dally's pillow are both covered with puke. You have to wash those immediately... Steve is sitting in the armchair though, so you hand him the sleepy six-year old, who whimpers but curls up obediently against him. Steve throws an arm around Dal's shoulders, giving you a thumbs up. You skirt around Soda's still-sleeping figure on the floor and gather up you comforter and the pillow with you. You take them into the garage, where your washing machine is. You strip the pillowcase off the pillow and throw that and the comforter in the wash, dumping a load of detergent in and closing the door. Now that you have that done, it's time to make your little man feel better. You tread back inside the house and into Soda's room again, taking the heavy quilt off of his bed, along with a pillow off Pony's. You pause in the doorway of the living room, smiling slightly as you loom at Dallas all cuddled up against Steve, while the older teenager is just sitting there, reading a car magazine.

You start setting the couch up as a bed, and drag the garbage bin in from the kitchen to set beside the couch. You fluff the two pillows you have up and set them at the end of the couch, then drag the blanket up with you. You go into the kitchen and fill up a nice cool glass of water and a wet washcloth for his bot forehead. You set both down on the coffee table besides the couch and take Dallas from Steve, feeling the heat from the child skin radiating onto yours. The couch hits into your shins unexpectedly, and you fall back with a umph. You get yourself comfortable, then stretch Dallas out along the length of the couch, his hot head in your lap. His damp hair falls into his eyes, and you brush it out before tucking the blanket snugly around the shivering kid. His head is really hot, and you let him rest it in your lap. He looks like the picture of innocence right now, with his flushed cheeks, long eyelashes, and serene expression. With a few gentle pats, you start to gently rub his stomach, hoping that it alleviate some of the pain for him. Though you try it, you doubt that it will do anything. You're about 99% positive that he's got the stomach flu, and that means that nothing gonna feel better for at least 48 hours.


End file.
